Sherlock and Molly That night
by Dizzybunny
Summary: Sherlock asked Molly for help. My take on what happened after that scene and after TRF. Rated T to be safe. The odd word of bad language in Chapter 14. thanks for reviews .
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame during season 2 episode 3.

Let's face it, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are amazing. I am not. I love the characters, and am only borrowing them for a moment.

S S S S S S S

"What do you need?" she repeated.

"You."

One word, just one word and Molly knew she would walk to the ends of Earth and back again for this man. This man that had insulted her, belittled her and humiliated her on more than one occasion. But she would do whatever he asked, however he asked it, just because he was Sherlock Holmes.

Looking into his eyes as he stared at her, she knew that at that moment she was all he had. She must be, otherwise he wouldn't have asked.

S S S S S S S S

She was surprised when he had insisted on black cab back to her flat - she normally took the bus. He had ignored the first two taxi's in the queue, ushering her into the third car along. When they arrived, Sherlock paid the driver. She open the door to the house and then led downstairs to a basement flat. She paused outside the door.

"Can... could you just wait here for minute?" she asked hesitantly.

He studied her. "I don't care if your radiator has washing on it."

She blushed. "You might not, but I do. Please?"

He nodded briefly, and she unlocked the door to her flat.

Her flat wasn't big, or grand, and certainly wasn't in the prestigious part of town like Sherlock's, but it was her's - she had the crippling mortgage to prove it. Her flat consisted of four rooms, a lounge, a kitchen, a bedroom and bathroom off a small central hall.

Tobias, her cat, was waiting in his usual spot in the hall. "I will feed you, but not now." She whispered as she shooed him into the kitchen.

Estimating she had about 40 seconds before Sherlock let himself in anyway, she dashed into the lounge and quickly gathered up the laundry she had left drying on the radiators. (How did he know?) A scan of the kitchen revealed her cat hadn't been sick or left any other messages for her. She shut the bedroom door firmly and resolved to spend a lot more time dusting in future.

She went back to the front door, and opened it shyly. "Um...Thank you for that. Please come in."

She indicated for Sherlock to go into her lounge. "I'll... um... I'll put the kettle on."

She tried to busy herself in the kitchen making tea and feeding Tobias, as Sherlock inspected her lounge. His eyes skimmed the bookshelves, taking in the vast quantities of medical text books and reference books. He dismissed the slightly beaten up copies of Mills and Boon Romance novels stacked on the floor next to the fire. The mantle piece held a collection of photo's and a small collection of letters tucked behind a large fossil bone. He scanned the walls, briefly glancing at the small watercolour pictures and framed photos.

Molly entered the room, carrying a tray with cups and a teapot. "I'm sorry... I wasn't sure...i can't remember," she stammered, "do you take sugar?" she asked as he put the tray on little table in front of the sofa.

"Yes."

Molly sat down on one end of the sofa, then realised that she had left her favoured seat for him. She lifted the tea pot with shaking hands. Sherlock noticed immediately and placed his hand over hers to support the teapot. "Let me."

Molly watched as he poured her tea, ensuring the milk went into the cup first. He then added just under ½ a teaspoon of sugar, and handed her the cup.

She stared at the cup. "How did you know that's how I take my tea?"

"You never use the drinks machine near your lab. You always go to the kitchen at the end of hall. I've seen half used packets of sugar in waste bin, and you always get the milk from the fridge before you actually switch the kettle on." he said dismissively.

Molly lowered her head. "I didn't think you would notice something like that." Molly said, and took a sip of tea.

"I notice everything, whether I decide something is worth remembering is something entirely different." Sherlock poured himself a cup of tea, and added 4 sugars.

Molly giggled. "How can someone who has 4 sugars in their tea be so skinny? I mean, it must be nervous energy. Not that you're nervous..."

"I am not skinny!" he protested.

"Right." She sipped her tea again. Silence fell. Feeling the need to say something Molly cast her eyes around the room. "You've been very restrained. So far you haven't insulted my flat."

"It's clearly something you are proud of," said Sherlock standing and pacing the length of the room. "as you didn't want me to see it untidy. I can see that you've recently replaced the windows – not with modern double glazing, but with original styled wood sash ones, the wood is in too good condition and the paint only has one layer, on a house this old you would expect multiple layers. The carpet is second hand, but of excellent quality. It probably cost more than purchasing a new one. The indentations in places, are clearly not from your furniture, hence second hand. The lampshade is an original, in keeping with period of the house, but not originally from this house. The size of the ceiling rose clearly shows a slightly larger chandelier originally hung here. Therefore you spent time looking for the right style to suit. You wouldn't spend that kind of time on a light fitting unless it mattered to you."

"Wow," said Molly "you got all that from just this room".

"There's lots more – shall I continue?" Sherlock didn't wait for her to answer. "You graduated from medical school at least 1 year early, possibly two. You have an extremely well read collection of medical text books, most of which seem recent publications, so you spend a lot of time keeping abreast of current thinking and research. You were extremely close to your Father, but your mother doesn't understand why you went into medicine and thinks you should be married with children by now. You have an extremely important job for someone so young and regularly work late, and yet you have time to read trashy romance novels."

"Wait some of that I understand, but how did you know about my father and mother?"

"The letters on the mantelpiece, all the same hand, a woman's hand, and each written exactly a month apart from the date on the post mark. That's too exact, almost like like it is scheduled in, therefore a duty rather than a desire. The letter formation is old fashioned, hence your mother not a sister. You mentioned earlier that your father had died, and given your age, deduced from the university diploma on the wall, you graduated early, probably driven to see if you could assist or cure your father. And don't all mothers want their daughters to be married and raising children? There are also more pictures of your father, and you with your father than of your mother."

Sherlock sat back down in the chair, and picked up his cup. "Did I miss something?"

"Do you know Sherlock, that's the first time you have done that without insulting me."

He frowned slightly. "My observations aren't meant to be insulting, they just are."

Molly sighed. "Possibly to you, but to those you are dissecting with that clinical eye of yours, it can be very hurtful. And you can't even see what you do is wrong." Molly stood up left the lounge, leaving Sherlock considering her words.

She came back in a few minutes later carrying a duvet, sheets and a pillow.

He eyed them curiously. "Molly, right now I just need a safe place to sit and think. I won't be sleeping tonight."

She placed them on the sofa. "That's fine, it's your choice, but they are here if you need them. The bathroom is next to the kitchen. Make yourself at home. I'm going to bed. Good night Sherlock."

She left the room and entered her bedroom, carefully closing the door. He had been right about everything. Absolutely everything, even the smallest detail. She had chosen medicine to help her father.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to agree to let Sherlock come to her house. He had told her his concerns about Moriarty. (She no longer thought of him as Jim. Jim had been nice and caring, Moriarty wasn't.) Sherlock had explained how he thought she might be able to help him. He'd even said it was a possibility that she might be in danger. Although it was somewhat remote.

She undressed quickly and slipped into her pyjamas. There were pink with cute sheep on them. Hardy sexy, but then she had no intention of Sherlock seeing her in them. She didn't exactly possess anything in the negligée line anyway. She turned on the little night light next to her bed and settled under the covers. It had been a very strange day, and for a while she didn't think she would sleep knowing Sherlock was in the next room. But almost in spite of her expectations, she drifted off.

S S S S S S S S

Sherlock sat in Molly's lounge and contemplated what had occurred. This evening when he had spoken to her in her lab, he had half expected her to shout at him, not offer him unconditional support. But then this was Molly. Always there for him. He had asked for help and she had given it. He had asked for sanctuary and again it was provided to him. He could have gone to a hotel or Mycroft's club, but instead he had sought her out.

He sat in the chair almost motionless. He heard Tobias the cat scratch at the door and for a moment considered ignoring it. Instead he stood and opened the door and watched as Tobias immediately made a beeline for the seat he had been sitting in. Sherlock gently removed the cat from the chair and sat back down. Instantly Tobias jumped onto his lap. "I am not a cat person," he said quietly. Tobias stared at him for a moment as if doubting this statement, then settled comfortably into a position that Sherlock could only describe as "melting" over his leg. Carefully he extended his hand, and gently scratched Tobias behind his ears. The loud purring noise he made led Sherlock to understand that he was finding this pleasurable. He continued to rub and scratch the cats' head before moving to longer strokes of the animals back and tail. For a moment an image of Blowfeld from the Bond films ran through his head. Sherlock and Tobias continued in this fashion for a while, until a noise disturbed Sherlock's musings.

At first Sherlock heard only a whimper, then a clear cry. He stood up immediately causing Tobias to half fall, half jump from his lap. Carefully Sherlock went into the hallway. Molly's bedroom door was closed, but he could clearly hear signs of agitation coming from her room. Suddenly he heard her cry out, a clear single word. "Don't."

Unsure of what he would find, Sherlock quickly opened the door. The small night light gave off ample light to see Molly lying in her bed. She was gripping her bed covers with both hands, and wriggling uncomfortably as if restrained. She moaned loudly and cried out again, "don't. No." She was now panting, like she was being chased. There was no one else in the room, and he realised that she must be suffering from a nightmare.

He crossed to her bed and tried calling her name. "Molly, can you hear me? Wake up." But she was unresponsive. He reached over and shook her slightly, gripping her by the shoulders. "Molly. It's a dream. Only a dream."

Suddenly she started to try to fight him off.

"Molly, it's me. Wake up."

Her eyes flew open and she suddenly realised what was happening. "Sherlock?"

"You're OK. You're at home, you're safe."

She flopped back onto the bed, and turned away. "Oh god."

"It's OK now, you're safe. It was just a bad dream."

The humiliation of having a nightmare in front of Sherlock – the most together man she knew, suddenly overwhelmed her, and she started to cry.

Sherlock sat down on the side of the bed. He'd spent a large part of his life trying avoid the complications of relationships and feelings, but right now for reasons he struggled to articulate, he couldn't leave Molly like this. In the same way that he had stroked Tobias, he began to stroke Molly's shoulder and arm. Gradually he heard the crying stop, to be replaced with regular breathing. Exhaustion had won out, she had gone back to sleep.

He briefly debated leaving her and retreating to the lounge, but then realised he could do his thinking sitting here just as well as in the lounge. Almost in same way he had found he enjoyed having John around as a presence in the flat, right now he actually found it soothing to have another presence in the room.

Molly shifted slightly, unconsciously in her sleep, almost unintentionally making room for Sherlock on one side of her bed. Carefully he swung his legs up, propping himself against the headboard. For the moment he decided not to consider whether this was a wise course of action, but focus on the comfort that he was giving to Molly. A new concept to him.

S S S S S S S S S

In the morning, Molly awoke slowly. Suddenly the events of last night came flooding back. Sherlock coming to her lab. Bringing him home. And then the nightmare. She groaned and hid her head under the duvet. Or at least she tried to. For some reason the duvet failed to move as she pulled it.

"Good Morning" said a deep voice to one side.

Molly squealed and turned suddenly to see Sherlock reclined on one side of the bed. "you... you.." she stammered,

"Yes."

"You're still here?"

"Very observant Molly. Yes I stayed."

"Why?"

"You seemed calmer with company." Sherlock looked her at tousled hair and bright eyes as she gripped the duvet to her, covering every inch except her face. "Tell me, exactly how long have you been having nightmares?"

Molly's mouth made little "o's" as she tried to make a sentence.

"I think I know," said Sherlock sadly, "but …."

Molly shook her head. "It's not your fault"

"It's since you went out with Jim isn't it?"

Molly turned away. "I really …. I don't want to discuss it."

"He tried to hurt you, didn't he?" Sherlock squeezed her shoulder. "Please tell me."

A tear fell despite Molly's resolve. Keeping her back to Sherlock her voice cracked as she tried to speak. "He tried." she whispered.

John had often accused Sherlock of having no emotions, but Sherlock was well acquainted with many of them despite not showing them. Right now, he felt an anger burning in him, so white hot that he wanted to make Moriarty suffer for every little thing that he may have done to Molly.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, his words a strange parody of how he found himself in this situation.

"I'll … I will be alright." she said with a little strength.

Amazing himself, Sherlock found himself leaning over and stroking Molly's hair, the only bit he could see of her. "I know you will. But do you need anything now?"

"Just make him go away. Please."

Sherlock patted her arm. "I intend to."

He pushed himself off the bed and began to leave the room.

"Sherlock?" Molly called.

He turned to see her sitting up in bed, watching him. In her pink and sheep patterned pyjama's, she looked like a small child. "I need to know. Why did you stay?"

He paused, "because you do count Molly. You do matter. You see with John, I can't be myself. He thinks I am, but he expects me to be better than I am. You, you just see me. Warts and all. I don't have to pretend to be anything than I am with you. Can't you see the difference? Can't you see why that makes you more important?"

Molly shook her head. "That's not exactly what I meant."

"I know. But right now that's all the answer I have."

"Thank you... for staying, I mean."

"We'd better get going." said Sherlock sadly. "It's going to be a busy day."

S S S S S S S S

Well it was an idea that I had, that I just had to get written down to make it go away. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame immediately after season 2 episode 3.

Let's face it, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are amazing. I am not. I love the characters, and am only borrowing them for a moment.

Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. I had originally had no plans to continue this, and now it won't go away. I have rewritten chapter 1 just a little, to make Molly more Molly like.

S S S S S S S

It was late that night, almost 2am when Molly practically threw herself through the door of her flat. She entered the lounge to find Sherlock sitting in the dark in the spot she now viewed as his on the sofa. He was wearing blue surgical scrubs and a ginger wig was sitting on the arm of the sofa.

She switched on the table light and glanced at him. "You made it back here in one piece then?" she asked.

"Obviously." Sherlock said dryly. He looked at her, "You've been crying."

Molly nodded. "Oh Sherlock, it was awful. They really believed it was you."

"But that was the plan Molly. They had to believe it was it me."

"I know, but John. Oh God, poor John. He's taking it so badly." She sat down on the sofa and pulled a tissue from her cardigan pocket and wiped her eyes. "Lestrade is with him. In the end Lestrade asked me to give him something to make him sleep."

"But everyone now thinks I'm dead. No one suspects that it wasn't me?" asked Sherlock intently. "It's important Molly. It's the only way they will be safe."

Sniffing Molly shook her head. "I know. But it doesn't make it easier to watch them suffer."

"But now I have the ability to work in the shadows. Without the press constantly wanting a quote or a photo. I can find Moriarty's people and remove the threat against Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and John." He looked over at her. "Moriarty didn't mentioned you, I am hoping that he decided you didn't count. As you thought. But you must be careful. We must be careful."

"You have a plan then?"

"Indeed."

"Am I allowed to know what it is? I mean... If I can know."

"I promise you Molly you are an integral part of it." Sherlock noticed that she tried to stifle a yawn. "You need to sleep. Go to bed. We'll talk some more in the morning."

"Promise?"

"Yes. I promise." He watched as she stood up wearily and picked up a cup from the coffee table. "Now, shall I join you?"

Molly dropped the cup with a clatter and blushed bright red. "Wh.. What?"

Sherlock stood up, rescuing the cup that fortunately hadn't shattered. "I only meant that considering your disturbed sleep last night, whether you would appreciate some company." he said innocently. "to help you sleep."

"You …. Erm." Molly struggled to put any kind of sentence together. Images played through her mind, and she just couldn't say that knowing Sherlock would be in her room was unlikely to be conducive to getting any sleep what so ever. "You.. You don't have to do that."

"And if I said I wanted to?"

Molly gulped. "Are you sure? Of course you're sure...but you don't ..." Sherlock stepped closer and then gently pushed her towards the door.

"Good night Molly. I will see you in the morning."

Molly turned and fled the room. She entered the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Breathe Molly, she told herself sternly, breathe.

Looking in the mirror she saw how dreadfully tired she looked. Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes red from crying, her clothes were crumpled. She looked awful. But of course she did. The man she loved had died. How else was she supposed to look?

After a moment she allowed herself a small smile. She'd done it. She'd help him convince the world that he was dead. She was there for him. She was Molly Hooper. The girl that counted!

S S S S S S


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame immediately after season 2 episode 3.

Let's face it, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are amazing. I am not. I love the characters, and am only borrowing them for a moment.

Thanks for your kind reviews. All reviews both positive and negative are gratefully received.

S S S S S S S

Molly awoke earlier than she thought she would considering the time she had finally gone to bed. She stretched and glanced at the door to her bedroom. It was closed. She sighed, but wasn't sure if it was of relief, or of regret. Sherlock hadn't joined her after all.

Day light filtered through the curtains, and she stretched again before throwing the covers back and climbing out of bed. She put on her dressing gown and listened carefully at the door. There was no noise at all. She guessed perhaps Sherlock was still asleep. She padded quietly to the bathroom and slipped inside. As its small window fronted to the side alley, she had been careful to install a black out blind, therefore very little light trickled through. She pulled the light cord, turned and gasped to see Sherlock lying in the bath staring at her.

She turned quickly away only having glanced at his face. "I am so sorry... I'll um.. go", she said opening the door

"It's fine Molly," he said sitting up. He was fully clothed. He'd been lying in the bath fully clothed with her duvet over him. He'd changed from the surgical scrubs into a pair of plain trousers and shirt.

"Why... are you in the bath?"

"It was quiet in here. You have a very noisy clock in your lounge. Also this was the darkest most private room."

"Oh, of course." She turned to face him, the small room making contact with him almost unavoidable.

He studied her intently. "You slept better last night." It wasn't a question.

She blushed and looked away, "yes, thank you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but didn't acknowledge her comment. He edged past her and opened the door. "I'll put the kettle on."

Molly closed the door and began to make a mental list of extra items she would need to purchase. A bolt for the bathroom door was going to be high on the list.

Carefully she picked up the duvet and on instinct buried her face in it. It smelt of warm spices, musk and a hint of cologne. It undeniably smelt of Sherlock.

S S S S S S S S

When Molly entered the kitchen pulling her cardigan straight, she was amazed to see Sherlock had indeed made tea, but also toast and had laid it out on her small kitchen table.

"This is very civilised." she said.

He pulled out a chair for her, like a waiter at an expensive restaurant. Molly wanted to giggle, but the serious face he wore quenched the thought quickly.

He sat in the other chair and began to pour the tea as he spoke. "Today you will call in sick."

Molly almost choked on a piece of toast. "Why?"

"Because I need you here. Well actually I need you to go out and run several errands for me. I have complied a list." he pushed a note pad towards her.

Chewing carefully, and trying not to drop crumbs down her shirt she studied it. "Exactly where will I find 'nanofibres' and what is 'dirty down'?"

"Addresses are on the second page."

"I think I should go in today. To work. I have things to do. I'll need..."

Sherlock shook his head. "It will look odd if you go in. To all intents and purposes, the man you love has just died. You identified the body. You should be in shock. I think that should be good for at least a day of compassionate leave."

She sat stunned. "Shock." Did he really just say 'the man I love', she thought.

Sherlock looked at her. "Problem?"

Molly shook her heard, stood up and moved her empty plate to the sink. "I don't think you realise how difficult this is. The lying. To John, to Lestrade."

"It's for their own good."

"I know."

"I need something else though. Something only you can tell me." said Sherlock calmly. "I need to know about Moriarty, about Jim."

Sherlock heard her gasp. "I really don't want to talk about that."

"Molly, everything he said to you could be of vital importance. It could be a small clue that could lead me to his team. The people threatening John and Lestrade."

Molly said nothing.

"Let's start with how you met Jim."

A sob escaped Molly's lips and she dashed from the kitchen into her bedroom. After slamming the door shut, she threw herself on the bed and cried even harder. Damn Sherlock, damn damn damn him. For one second she found herself regretting letting him into her house, then immediately retracted the thought. He was the most irritating man she had ever met. He might be brilliant, but at times he could be so stupid.

Sherlock sat in the kitchen. He hadn't expected such a violent reaction to his questioning. Puzzled he replayed the conversation in his head. No, everything he had asked was reasonable. Potentially embarrassing for Molly, but necessary. Then he remembered her yesterday morning (was it really only yesterday?). The little lost girl sitting in bed in pyjamas asking him to make Moriarty go away, to make it all better. At that moment, he imagined what John would say. "A bit not good Sherlock."

He gave her a few minutes, and then left the kitchen and knocked gently on the bedroom door. "Molly? I realise now I was being selfish. I didn't think about how difficult this could be for you."

There was a pause, and then Molly opened the door, and raised her head challenging him. "The word you are looking for is 'sorry'."

Her face was blotchy from crying and her hair was messy, but through that he saw the woman that he had turned to 2 nights ago. That had unconditionally opened her life to him, had helped save him. The strength that she had shown him that night was back.

Sherlock bent down onto his knees, so he was looking up at her, "I apologise unreservedly and wholeheartedly."

Sherlock looked genuinely contrite and Molly began to feel like a heel. "I'm sorry too."

A spark of an idea formed in his head. "Do you trust me Molly?"

"Will I regret it, if I say yes?"

Sherlock tutted. "Not if you trust me."

Molly rolled her eyes and looked down at him. "I trust you Sherlock."

"Good. Now go shopping, get everything on the list." He stood up, and retreated back to the kitchen. Molly followed wiping her eyes.

"I have a credit card here, just pay for everything with this." said Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I can't use your card. You're dead. I'll be done for fraud!"

"It's not my card. It's Mrs Hudson's." He saw her face, and sighed. "It's fine. It's not really her card. I took it out in her name, but I pay the bills."

"OK you win." Molly took the card and picked up her bag from the chair. "You'll be here when I get back?"

"Yes." Sherlock fished in his pockets and handed her several hundred pounds in £10 notes. "Take taxi's today. Not the bus."

Nodding mutely she took the money and place it her bag. "What are you going to be doing today?"

"Thinking."

S S S S S S S S S S S


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame during immediately after season 2 episode 3.

Let's face it, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are amazing. I am not. I love the characters, and am only borrowing them for a moment.

S S S S S S S S S

S S S S S S S S S S S

When Molly returned home later that afternoon, carrying many bags of the various purchases demanded by Sherlock, she wasn't sure what she would find. She remembered John describing how Sherlock had once dismantled his microwave, just because he was bored.

She let herself into her flat, and called out. "I'm back."

"Don't come in!" Sherlock called out from the lounge.

"What are you doing?" A sudden thought stuck Molly. "Please don't tell me you have dismantled my clock."

"One minute."

Molly shook her head and took the bags into the kitchen. She started to empty the bags, removing a tub of nanofibres (face make up to create the effect of stubble), various pallets of face make up, several fake moustaches, a sheet of tattoo's and 'dirty down' (a crayon to age clothes). She had also purchased a few extra items, including a bolt for the bathroom, and black out curtains for the lounge, kitchen and bedroom. She figured at least with those closed, Sherlock could have the light on during the day when she was out.

Sherlock stuck his head around the kitchen door. Molly jumped. "Did you get everything?"

Molly nodded. "I think so."

"Good." Sherlock rummaged through the pile of items. "Ah good. They did have the contact lenses. Good."

Molly stood patiently waiting for Sherlock to finish his inspection.

Sudden he turned and studied her, "And now to you."

"Me... I."

"We are going to talk Molly." He reconsidered the words, "Actually, you are going to talk, and I am going to listen."

"Sherlock..."

"Ah ah ah. You said you trusted me. Do so now." he turned and left the room, "Come on Molly."

Like a dutiful puppy Molly followed Sherlock into the lounge. Her jaw dropped. He had definitely been busy. Every candle that Molly possessed was now lit and arranged around the room. Everything from tea light candles to the long stick candles for her dinner table was casting a warm orange glow to the room. He had even lit the fire and had it burning very low. The room was warm, but not stifling. He had arranged all the cushions on the floor, and created a warm nest. He sat down on the sofa and indicated the cushions at his feet. "Sit down."

"Um.. What.."

"Sit here, in front of me."

Hesitantly she approached the pile of cushions.

"That's it, turn away now. With your back to me."

Molly sat very uneasily in front Sherlock. Adjusting his position, he arranged himself so she sat between his knees. He placed a small fleecy blanket around her shoulders, and pulled her backwards slightly, so she rested against him.

"What are you..."

"Shush Molly. Right now you are to relax. Only relax." Sherlock gently started massaging her shoulders. Gradually he moved up to her neck. Very quietly he said "I want you to listen to my voice, just concentrate on my voice." Molly groaned slightly as he eased the muscles around her shoulder and collar bone. "You are safe here Molly. Safe with me."

"I know." she breathed.

Sherlock continued to massage, and stroke her hair. " Just breath in and breath out. In and out. You are feeling relaxed, and you feel sleepy. Very sleepy. Breath in and out." he intoned hypnotically. "That's it, you are feeling very sleepy. Relax "

Molly began to tune out as Sherlock gently stroked her scalp.

He waited until her breathing indicated that she was deeply under hypnosis. "Now Molly, let's go back. Let's go back to when you first met Jim..."

S S S S S S S S


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame during immediately after season 2 episode 3.

Let's face it, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are amazing. I am not. I love the characters, and am only borrowing them for a moment.

Thank you for all your lovely reviews.

S S S S S S S S S

"And now you're awake."

Molly blinked slowly and realised that Sherlock has stopped massaging her shoulders. She felt incredibly relaxed, and for the first time in a long while all the tension in her neck and shoulders had gone. She was still seated on the floor in front of him.

"Thank you so much for that," she said stretching. She suddenly noticed that several of the candles had burnt out and many others were just little stubs. "Oh I'm sorry. Did I fall asleep?"

"You were very tired." He finally settled upon.

Molly nodded and got up, tripping slightly over the cushions. She blushed. "Oops. Perhaps I'm still a bit woozy."

Sherlock watched as she picked up the cushions and blanket folding it neatly into a pile on the other chair.

"Did you get your thinking done?" she asked to break the silence. "You said you would tell me your plan."

"It still has some fine tuning required." He confessed, "but I think I have several places to start."

"That's good." Molly began to blow out the candles. "You will be careful won't you? With Moriarty's people I mean."

Sherlock stood up and stretched himself. "Molly, I am familiar with many forms of martial arts. I was taught by a master how to fence, and have been known to undertake a bout or two without following the Queensbury's rules. And John has shown me how to use a gun, even if he won't let me keep one in the flat anymore."

Molly winced and glanced at his face, she couldn't quite imagine someone so handsome being involved in a bare knuckle brawl. "I know, but I am not sure these people will follow any kind of rules."

He paused and frowned a little. "It bothers you?"

"Of course." She looked at him closely this time, studying the puzzled expression on his face. "Why do you think it wouldn't?"

He was silent.

"Never mind." she said sadly. "Please just be careful."

"I will."

Changing the subject he nodded to the clock. "It's getting late. I have things I need to do. Now you have managed to get the supplies I needed, I will be going out."

Molly was surprised to see it was quite so late, and checked her own wrist watch to confirm the time. "Goodness, just how long was I asleep?

"3 hours and 43 minutes." He replied, heading for the kitchen.

Molly followed and found him sorting the various items she had obtained onto the kitchen table.

"Shall I leave you to it?" she asked.

She wasn't completely surprised that Sherlock didn't answer.

S S S S S S S

The following morning when she got up, she found that Sherlock had gone. He had actually left her a note though.

"M. You won't remember, but last night you told me all about Jim. How you met and the three dates you went on. You also told me about what he tried to do you. I doubt you are in any danger, but I still need to ensure John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson are safe. Thanks to you, I have enough information now to piece part of his operation together. Don't expect to see me for several days. SH. p.s. I took your spare key."

Molly's mind shut down for a moment. She hadn't told him anything. She had vowed to herself she wouldn't tell anyone anything about Jim. She was still shaken by the memory. Thank God Lestrade had walked in when he did. He had scared him away. Looking back she realised that Moriarty wasn't scared of Lestrade, it was just bad timing. How had Sherlock found out? She knew that Lestrade wouldn't have told him. She thought back to last night, but there was nothing but a warm fuzzy memory of Sherlock's voice, telling her to relax.

Suddenly she realised what he done. She felt her stomach roll over, and dived for the sink. Fortunately her lack of dinner last night meant there wasn't an awful lot to throw up. She heaved a few times, before reaching for a glass of water.

She grabbed a cloth and wiped her face. He knows! Oh God he knows, she thought. She groaned loudly. How would she ever face him again.

Still feeling queasy she looked at the mess that Sherlock had left. His makeup and disguises left to one side on the table. She'd tidy it up tonight. Right now she was too angry.

She read the note through again. Several days. At least he planned to come back. Perhaps by then she would have calmed down enough not to kill him herself.

S S S S S S S S S


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Let's face it, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are amazing. I am not. I love the characters, and am only borrowing them for a moment.

Thanks for your kind reviews. All reviews both positive and negative are gratefully received and truly appreciated.

S S S S S S S

It was late when Molly returned home from St Barts, well past 10pm. She'd had a long day, with Lestrade chasing her for test results and two odd suspicious deaths that had arrived by ambulance at the morgue that afternoon. Letting herself into her flat, she was met by her cat Toby at the door. "Hello darling. Have you been waiting for me? I know it's a bit late for dinner isn't it." She entered the kitchen and fed Toby. She was about to put the kettle on, but changed her mind. It was very late and she just wanted to go to bed. Sighing Molly slipped off her shoes and wandered into the lounge.

She turned on the light, and jumped as she saw Sherlock sitting on the sofa. He was wearing an old coat that had definitely seen better days, jeans that were dirty and ripped, and a very beaten up pair of Doc Martens boots. Those weren't the clothes that she had obtained for him before he left. She guessed at some point he must have exchanged those for these older ones.

Her blood froze at the sight of him. She had been thinking over everything that had happened the last time she'd seen him. She found it hard to keep the bitterness from her voice as she spoke, "So you came back then."

Sherlock had looked up as soon as the light had come on. He had expected her to be happy at his return. Instead her voice triggered alarm bells. He had never heard Molly speak like that before. Even that time at the Christmas party at 221b, when he had accidentally humiliated her, she hadn't had spoken with such venom. Even calling Jim gay, hadn't made her react like that.

He obviously had taken too long to formulate a response, because Molly left the room slamming the door shut.

He heard the sound of her moving about in the kitchen. The chink of china as she emptied the dishwasher; bangs of doors as mugs and cups were unceremoniously pushed back into their respective cupboards.

"A tea would be nice," he called out to her.

All sounds from the kitchen ceased immediately. There was silence.

For a moment Sherlock wondered if Molly had left the flat, but realised he would have heard the front door slam.

Suddenly the door to the lounge opened again. Molly stood there incandescent with rage. "How dare you?" she hissed.

"Sorry, I thought I heard you putting the kettle on."

"Stuff the bloody kettle." She fumed. "Or don't you even remember?"

Sherlock stared at her as though he had never seen her before. In a way he never had. He was so used to timid little Molly, he had never considered what 'angry' Molly might be like. "To what are you referring?"

Molly strode across the room and stood right in front of him with her hands on her hips. "Well, I'm not referring to you disappearing the middle of the night with only a note. I'm not referring to the fact that you've been gone for a week without any message to let me know you're alive. I'm also not referring to you stealing my spare key and treating this place like a hotel. And right now I'm not even referring to the hideous smell emanating from whatever those rags are you are wearing." Molly's voice had colder and colder during her tirade "I am however referring to the 'mind rape' you performed last week. HOW DARE YOU!"

Sherlock flinched. It was as though she had slapped him.

Molly paused refusing to say another word until he acknowledged her.

"I think you are over reacting."

"Oh really. How did you think I would react Sherlock?" Molly said. "You tricked me. You hypnotised me, just to get the information you wanted. You didn't care a jot about me, or my feelings, or care about what I went through. You didn't think about the sleepless nights I went through dealing with that at the time, let alone the new nightmares you've now given me. Not knowing exactly what I told you. What else you might have asked me, when I couldn't say no. What else you might have done to me. But of course you're Sherlock Holmes and I'm just a tool that you can manipulate with a smile and a bit of attention."

She turned away from him and moved back to the door way. "I really trusted you." she said sadly.

He heard her voice break slightly as she closed the door, "I believed in you."

Sherlock heard her enter her bedroom and shut the door.

Sherlock sat there stunned. He would never have imagined Molly could turned like that on him. She was the one person he had trusted to help him - who had helped him. This time he really had pushed her too far. He had never heard Molly speak so passionately before. She hadn't even stuttered or stammered once.

He realised that in his own mind he had thought that getting her to tell him everything under hypnosis was a good idea. She didn't know it, but he had calmed her down, gently teased out the information from her without her getting upset or emotional about it. He'd walked her through every meeting with Jim. Everything Jim had said, or she'd said to him.

Reviewing it again in his own mind, Sherlock did admit to himself that he had been surprised at how angry he had become when he heard about their last meeting. How Jim had become Moriarty in front of her, scaring her witless. How Moriarty had chased her into the morgue, circling around the mortuary table and had described in detail what he planned to do to her. Thankfully Lestrade had arrived, disturbing Moriarty. (He must remember to thank him for that). In hindsight he realised it was the same feeling that he'd had when he discovered Mrs Hudson had been attacked at 221b. Sherlock didn't believe in heaven or hell, but he had certainly wished there was a wrathful God or avenging angel that would ensure Moriarty would suffer through eternity.

Sherlock sighed. He hadn't considered what he'd done as wrong. He mentally winced at her description of it as 'Mind Rape'. Why did he always get things so wrong with Molly?

Slowly he rose to his feet, and went into the hallway quietly. He could hear Molly's muffled sobbing. She was obviously crying into a pillow, trying to hide the noise. Why did he always make her cry?

He entered the kitchen and picked up the notepad she kept by the phone. He paused for a moment and then began to write.

_M. I know you think I am a cold, heartless, unfeeling monster right now. You may be right. But I know I can't stand here, whilst you are so upset and knowing I am the cause. Please understand that I never intended to hurt you, even if that has been the outcome. I can't undo the harm I have done to you, no matter how much I wish I could. But you should know that you have now saved not only my life, but also Lestrade's. Take care of yourself. Your friend SH. _

Sherlock tore the page from the notepad and placed it so that it was clearly visible on the kitchen table. Then took Molly's spare key from his pocket, regretfully he placed it on top of the note.

He quietly opened the front door, and slipped out, throwing a final glance at Molly's bedroom door.

Outside her flat, he turned his collar up against the now biting wind that blew in short gusts directly at him. He shuffled off towards the river, stooped over and effecting a small limp to disguise himself. At the end of the street he turned back, wanting just one more glimpse of Molly's world.

Sherlock owed Molly so much, that much he realised. She didn't know the whole story, not yet. She didn't know that she had not only helped him survive the encounter with Moriarty, but to also save Lestrade. The information she had provided had been vital in allowing Sherlock to find two of Moriarty's henchmen. Two men that had orders to kill Lestrade if Sherlock lived. Molly would work it out tomorrow when she did the post mortem on the two people that had arrived at St Bart's morgue today. He smiled to himself, she was clever like that. Right now, she might not believe in Sherlock, but he believed in her.

S S S S S S S S

What do you think? Is Molly out of character? Is Sherlock a killer?

Thanks to everyone who has kindly reviewed, or is following this story with a story alert. I hadn't realised how exciting that is before. I promise to review any stories I read in future.

Special thanks to Eccentricpetal and Nocturnias – love your stories.

#believeinsherlock


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

Thanks for your kind reviews. All reviews both positive and negative are gratefully received and truly appreciated.

This chapter is very Molly centred, no Sherlock.

S S S S S S S

Molly stared at the note and then reread it through for the 7th time.

Sherlock was gone.

She collapsed ungainly into her kitchen chair and read it again for the 8th time. Oh God what had she done. As soon as she'd seen the key on the table she had realised that he had no intention of coming back.

Dreadful scenarios ran through her head. What if he really threw himself off a building? Or in front a train? What if he thought she really didn't care? What if she never saw him again? She had thought it was impossible for her to cry any further after last night, but two fat wet tears trickled down her cheeks.

Goodness knows she had been angry with him. But she had expected him to explain why he'd done what he did; to justify it in his own way, and life would go on. He'd figure out how to get to the men that threatened John and Mrs Hudson. She reread the part about she'd helped save Lestrade. She didn't really understand that, but it was flicker of hope that everything could be resolved.

Somehow all the anger that she had felt last night had gone. Saying out loud to him, what and how she felt had cleared it all away. As remember her last words to him, 'I trusted you. I believed in you', she cringed inside. Did she still trust him? She thought back to the first night he'd stayed at her flat. He'd stayed with her just to ensure she didn't have another nightmare.

Her nightmares before had always been of Moriarty threatening her. Since last week, she hadn't had that nightmare. Instead she now dreamt of being on the roof top of Barts, standing next to Sherlock, but completely invisible. She could hear every word of his encounter with Moriarty, and then his final conversation with John. But she was hypnotised, and couldn't move a muscle to help him. She would awake screaming as he plunged off the roof top powerless to stop him. She knew it has been a trick. He hadn't smashed into the pavement and died. But it always took a moment to remember that, as she awoke in a panic.

Did she trust him? Suddenly she remembered a quote her father had told her years ago, from Lao Tzu. 'He who does not trust enough, will not be trusted'.

Sherlock had left, perhaps now he didn't trust her.

S S S S S S S S

Molly had put herself on auto pilot after that. Feeding Toby, getting dressed, brushing her hair, and making her way to St Barts. Just putting one foot in front of the other. She barely noticed the journey to work and was surprised when she found herself sitting in her office, without a clear recollection of how she got there.

Sighing she picked up the case files of the two suspicious deaths, that had arrived yesterday. Her job. She could focus on her job. She was good at her job, even if she was bad with people.

She quickly flicked through the file. Both had been found at the same time in a old deserted warehouse in South London. She was puzzled though. It would have been usual procedure to take the bodies to St Georges Hospital, not Barts. She read the files through again, apparently there had been a tip off to the police, specifically to Lestrade. He had requested the bodies be brought to Barts. She smiled sadly, at least he trusted her.

Molly walked to the Mortuary and faked a smile for Tom her assistant. He had already pulled open the large refrigerated drawer containing the first body. She didn't like to refer to them as victims until she had established a cause of death. Thinking down that route could lead to errors.

"So any initial thoughts?" she asked him.

"Of course. Most of which will be complete wrong." he said grinning.

She pulled over her tray of instruments, and began her initial external examination, recording the details into a small dicta phone. "Male, mid 30's. Police have identified the body from personal effects as Robert Wagstaff." She continued studying the body, making a note of the weight and height and taking the time to list the identifying marks of scars and tattoos, of which there were several. She paused puzzled at one of the tattoos. "Tom? What do you make of that?" she said, beckoning him over.

On the right hip of the body was a small mark in the shape of a cross.

Tom stared at the unusual mark. "At first glance I would have said a tattoo. But the colouration is wrong."

Molly picked up her small magnifying glass. "You know what, I think this is a burn. Like a branding mark."

Tom went to the refrigerated drawers and pulled open the drawer of the other man that had been found with Wagstaff. "This other chap was called Giggs, Tony Giggs."

"Do you have something?" Molly asked.

"Sure do. He has exactly the same mark, in the same location. I saw it when I prepared the body."

She wandered back to Wagstaff. "OK. Odd, but not necessarily impossible. These men were found together, it could be they already knew each other. The rest of the tattoos don't appear to be gang related. Therefore could this brand could be a gang marking. I know it's speculation but branding is pretty harsh compared to tattooing. Therefore this must be pretty hard core."

Molly wandered over the phone, and routing through the file found Lestrade's direct line phone number.

"Hello Greg. I wanted to speak to you about the bodies that arrived yesterday." She paused. "No I haven't quite finished the autopsies yet. I wanted to ask you about gang markings. Have you ever come across branding as a gang mark? A small cross." Molly held the phone away from her ear as Lestrade let off a few choice 4 letter words. She waited for the silence and replaced the receiver to her ear. "Um, yes. OK. I'll see you shortly then."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Not what you expected?"

Molly shook her head. "No. But he said he would come right over. Let's continue. We might find something else to cheer him up."

S S S S S S S S S

Lestrade was not a happy man when he walked in Molly's morgue. "Molly." he acknowledged as she walked over to greet him.

"Morning Greg. I didn't mean to drag you over here."

He waved it off. "It's fine." He glanced at Tom at the far end of the room. "Can we have a moment?"

Molly frowned. She was used to discussing the autopsy findings in front of Tom. But if Lestrade wanted privacy, she would oblige. "Tom can you please give us a few minutes?"

He shrugged unconcernedly, "Sure. I'll be upstairs. Tea?"

"That would be great. Thanks Tom."

Lestrade waited until Tom had left the room. "What did you find?"

Molly pulled back the sheet covering Wagstaff's body, to show the small brand.

Lestrade swore. He paced the length of the room before returning to the body and swearing again.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Molly asked finally.

Lestrade look at her closely, and then indicated the morgues stools. "Let's sit down over there."

When they were seated, he said quietly. "You didn't do the autopsy on Moriarty did you?"

Completely nonplussed Molly stared at him. "What has Moriarty to do with any of this?"

He hesitated for a moment. "He also had a brand on his hip, in the shape of a cross."

Stunned Molly stayed silent. But her mind was working at a thousand miles an hour.

"We haven't made any of this public, but over the last few months leading up to Sherlock's death, I've had 14 other reports of dead bodies turning up with branding marks like that on them."

"14?" she exclaimed.

Lestrade nodded. "From all over the home counties. From other tip offs, and gathered intelligence, the Organised Crime squad came to the conclusion that they were Moriarty's men. Of the 14 identified so far, 9 were identified as hired assassins. We suspect the others were as well."

A horrifying thought struck Molly. "When did you say this started?"

"We've been finding bodies for nearly 3 months."

Internally Molly sighed in relief. 3 months, that was well before Sherlock had gone looking for them, so he couldn't have had anything to do with the other deaths. She glanced at the body still lying on the table.

"Have you established the cause of death on these guys yet." Lestrade asked.

Molly nodded. "I've completed my preliminary findings on both, and completed a full autopsy on Wagstaff. At the moment I would say they killed each other."

Lestrade blew out a deep breath. "Molly I found these guys. I could tell they'd been in a fight, but they were at least 30 feet apart and neither had a knife wound or bullet hole in them. How did they kill each then?"

Molly switched into lecture mode. "I have found extensive bruising covering most of their upper bodies. But actually it was a combination of factors on each body. Wagstaff was definitely the strong of the two. I have found skin traces under the finger nails of Wagstaff that match the samples taken from Giggs. Wagstaff took a unlucky punch to the kidneys. It caused an internal bleed. Now that wasn't enough on it's own, but at some point Wagstaff also took a blow the cardioid artery, this caused a stoke."

"So murder."

"But Giggs had also been badly beaten. I've found at least 8 broken ribs. One of which punctured a lung. Again treatable, but just from the external examination, I can feel that Giggs also had a fractured skull. I think he was unconscious, when he died. I think Wagstaff walked away from Giggs, then collapsed, which is why he was 30 feet from the body."

"So both murders."

"I can't tell who attacked who first. And I can't tell if either was acting in self defence."

Lestrade shook his head. "What a case."

"There is one more thing." Molly hesitated. "I don't think Tony Giggs is his real name."

"How could you possibly know that?"

She held up a small bag containing the jewellery removed from the body. "You identified the bodies using the driving licence as ID. But he was wearing a wedding ring. Inside was an engraving, two names, but the first name isn't Tony. The ring says Samuel. Most men wouldn't wear a second hand wedding ring. They might possibly carry their Mother's old ring, but wouldn't wear it on the ring finger."

Lestrade stared in amazement. "That sounded almost Sherlock like."

She blushed and looked away.

"God I'm sorry Molly. I didn't mean to upset you." he said, misreading her. He looked at the jewellery for a moment then said quietly "Molly, can I see Gigg's body please?"

Molly hopped off the stool, and led him the cadaver drawer. She opened the drawer and drew back the sheet.

"Good grief." Lestrade looked pale. "I hardly recognised him. But this is Samuel Templeton. Actually Sargent Samuel Templeton. He was assigned to the Yard about10 days ago."

"What would he be doing with a brand from Moriarty's gang on him."

Lestrade frowned. "I can think of few answers to that question."

She carefully lowered the sheet back down, and then pushed the drawer closed. In her head she was doing the maths. Moriarty had managed to get someone into New Scotland Yard, 10 days ago. Just before he needed someone on standby to kill Lestrade. Molly felt sick. Templeton was the assassin sent to kill Lestrade.

A thought stuck her. Sherlock's message. Sherlock had said that she'd helped save Lestrade. She hadn't understood at first, but now she realised he had found out about Templeton, somehow, from something Jim/Moriarty had said to her. From her memory, he had found the clue he need to track them down. She looked up Lestrade. "Are you OK."

He nodded silently. "It's alright, I didn't know him that well." Lestrade took out his mobile phone and hit the buttons determinedly. "Are you sure that Wagstaff did this?"

Molly nodded. "Absolutely."

The phone connected. "Anderson. Check out the mobile phones of the victims from the warehouse last night. Yes I mean now. See if these guys had any contact with each other?" He ended the call with a sigh. "Molly can you keep this confidential for now. I don't want anyone to know about Templeton just yet."

Molly nodded. "I can keep them here for a while, lose the paperwork for a couple of days."

Lestrade touched her arm. "Thank you." His phone rang. "Lestrade." He listened for a moment. "Got it. OK. No it was just a hunch. I'll be back in the office later." he slipped the phone back in his pocket.

"We found a phone on each of the bodies. Anderson just checked. Both phones had received the same message. 'Warehouse, 6pm, I know your secret'." He shook his head, and walked to the door. "Something very odd is going on here." He nodded to Molly. "Well done. I'll call you later."

Lestrade left the morgue and once she was alone Molly fell weakly against the wall. Suddenly he legs gave way, and she sank to the floor. Sherlock had done this. He had sent the texts, and lured both men to the warehouse, and somehow prompted them fight each other. Both were trained killers, both had secrets. It may have been a fluke that both died, but that had been Sherlock's plan. Pit them against each other.

It was a dangerous game he was playing, and now he was on his own.

"Oh Sherlock." she whispered quietly to the empty room. "I am so sorry."

S S S S S S S S S

Thanks to all for reviewing. I am amazed at your comments.

PurpleYin – You were right – he's a manipulator.

#believeinsherlock


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock

Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

Thanks for your kind reviews. All reviews both positive and negative are gratefully received and truly appreciated.

This is set just after Sherlock has left Molly's. Chronologically, it probably should have come before the last chapter, but I think it makes more sense here.

S S S S S S S

Sherlock rarely slept when he was working, but even he had limits. If he was working on a case, usually this was about day 5 when he had to stop and take at least 6 hours sleep. John had tried to persuade him that napping little and often would be better for his health, but Sherlock knew his mind couldn't switch off like that. He had expected to spend the night at Molly's, but when that stopped being an option, he fell back on plan B.

He had several 'acquaintances' among the homeless people on the streets of London. People that he had assisted over the years. The occasional handout of food, some money in exchange for information. They had been his eyes and ears across London. They had only ever seen him as Sherlock Holmes, tall, dark, clean shaven with his full length coat. In his current state with dirty clothes, the best part of a weeks stubble covering his chin, an old woolly hat and an old Barbour jacket that was several sizes too big for him, he doubted even Mycroft would recognise him. During the last week he spent some time blending in with a small group of men that slept rough in the railway arches that lined the track. That was fine, because he didn't need to sleep and there was certain safety in numbers. Hiding in a crowd. Now however was not the time to go down that route. He needed somewhere where he would be undisturbed and safe without having to be on his guard.

He half shuffled, half limped along the embankment, before turning off into one of the alleys that serviced the many buildings of Barts. Sherlock knew his way around the hospital blindfolded, and also knew that whilst the main building was well lit and full of security, the outer more utilitarian buildings were less well guarded. After all, who would want to steal dirty laundry or rubbish. Unchallenged he padded through a unlit service yard, before stopping by a dirty wooden door in the side of set of garages. A gentle shove was enough to push was the door open. He walked inside and closed the door, dropping a small catch to keep the door closed.

The room was small, barely larger than single garage. A pile of junk and old chairs were heaped into one corner of the room. He carefully dragged a chair from the pile, and positioned it in front of the door. He then stood on the chair and reached up into the dark void of the roof space for a moment. He released a small sigh of relief as he found what he was searching for. Carefully he removed a small rucksack from the dark space and stepped down off the chair.

There had been several times in the past few years that Sherlock had found it necessary to blend into the homeless and needy of London Town. This was a bolt hole he'd set up for just this kind of emergency. Sherlock delved into the rucksack and pulled out a sleeping bag and an air mattress. Not the Ritz, but good enough for his purposes. He also removed two smallish bottles of water, some emergency ration bars and a small bundle of used five pound notes. No one could say he wasn't prepared.

Efficiently he made ready his bed for the night, and then climbed into the sleeping bag, still wearing all his clothes, boots and his coat. He lay there for a moment and thought through the events of the last few days. He was sure that phoning in the tip for Lestrade was the correct thing to do. He knew Lestrade would make the connect to Moriarty – or rather he hoped Molly would provide him with the information he needed to make that connection.

He'd found Templeton through the information Molly provided under hypnosis. She had remembered every comment Jim had ever made. In her small quiet voice she had described how once he had laughed out loud when he'd seen the book of Charlotte's Web that she'd picked up from the charity shop. How he said his favourite character was the fat rat. It hadn't meant anything to Molly, just harmless fun, but Sherlock knew it was important.

It had taken him less than half a day to find the significance, thanks to visit to a local library. The rat's name had been Templeton. It had then been easy to visualise the Venn diagram of Lestrade's life, cross over patterns between likely weak points and his daily movements. Where someone would have the means and opportunity to both watch Lestrade and to also kill him.

However it had taken Sherlock four days of watching Templeton under heavy disguise before he got the opportunity to pick pocket him for his phone. Once he had that, he had quickly identified another member of Moriarty's band of happy assassins - Wagstaff. Wagstaff had been easy to find. A large bald man, heavy set and covered in tattoos. Sherlock had followed Wagstaff to the warehouse, where Wagstaff had been storing equipment. Sherlock had then sent them both the same text message. That was child's play to someone that could send a text every journalist within a 3 mile radius at the same time.

Sherlock had waited until they had both arrived at the warehouse then slipped away. Sherlock could read every expression in their faces. He knew Templeton wouldn't be leaving there alive. A police officer on the take; the threat of a secret identity being exposed; Moriarty dead; Templeton couldn't take the risk of Wagstaff exposing him, and Wagstaff would know that Templeton would want him dead and therefore would be more likely to respond with violence.

Sherlock had waited for an hour for Wagstaff to leave the building. When he didn't, Sherlock went looking for them. The whole thing had gone down easier than he'd expected. The cherry on top was the fact that both men were dead. He couldn't have predicted that. He left the building and called in a tip off for Lestrade in the worst Scottish accent he could manage.

There had been no point in waiting around after that, and he had made his way back to Molly's. The pleasurable buzz of solving a problem had given way to a new feeling. He had been strangely anxious to see Molly again, to tell her how much she'd helped.

Her reaction earlier had surprised him. Her statement that she hadn't know if he was dead or alive was a revelation. Why would she have been worried about him? He was a grown up, he could take care of himself. He was of course aware that she had always had a bit of crush on him – he'd used it to his advantage many times. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and Sherlock had always tried to keep his emotions under firm control. But he knew what emotions were, even if he didn't want to acknowledge them. Earlier when he wrote her that goodbye note, he'd written it in haste, whilst tired, but the truth was in there, even if he hadn't realised it at the time. Sherlock had hurt her, whilst claiming to be a friend.

Sherlock sighed. He would make it up to Molly. But it would have to wait for now. He hated to admit weakness, but the constant state of alert he'd been in for the last week had finally caught up with him. He closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

S S S S S S S S S

Thank you again for your lovely reviews. I write these things to get them out of my head so I can do my day job! I can't believe you guys like reading them.

#believeinsherlock


	9. Chapter 9

Main Characters: Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

Thanks for your kind reviews. All reviews both positive and negative are gratefully received and truly appreciated.

S S S S S S S S S

Molly left Barts slightly earlier than her usual 8pm, and slowly made her way home. It was getting dark now, but she was used to walking through London, and made her way confidently along the main routes. She deliberately avoided eye contact with everyone around her.

Suddenly her eyes settled on a figure huddled in a door way about 20 feet away. Long coat, black hair and Doctor Martens boots sticking out from under a layer of cardboard. Was it him? Was it Sherlock? She rushed over to get a closer look.

The man in the door way jumped as Molly pulled the cardboard from his face. "Hey!" he protested.

It wasn't Sherlock. He was just a pale young man wearing a coat like his.

Molly staggered backwards. "Um.. I'm so sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"I wish I was love." He said, pulling back the cardboard.

On impulse Molly scrabbled in her bag, and pulled out a £5 note. "I'm sorry. Here, please take this, buy some food, some water, whatever."

The man eyed it suspiciously. "Why? What do you want?"

Molly offer it out to him at arm's length. "Nothing. It's for disturbing you. For reminding me of a friend who is also out on the streets."

Cautiously he took the money. "Thanks."

Molly started to wander away, but he called after her. "Oi. What's your friends name? I'll keep a look out for him."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I think he's dead. You just reminded me of him for a moment."

"What's your name then miss?" he called, "just so I know who my guardian angel was."

"I'm no angel," said Molly walking further away. "I'm just Molly."

She turned the corner away from the young man and continued her way home. Unlike every other time she had walked this route, tonight she noticed every single homeless person that lay in a doorway, or huddled in an alley. She had counted over 20 before she was even half way home.

On impulse she changed direction and headed towards the Embankment. She remembered John mentioning how Sherlock and he had stopped there once, to see a young homeless woman. Perhaps Sherlock was there.

As she walked along the river, she saw couples talking a romantic walk, people walking home carrying their brief cases and bags of takeaway food. But she also saw even more men and women sleeping rough. The lucky ones seemed to have sleeping bags, the unlucky ones cardboard boxes and bin bags.

She stood at the side of the river, and stared across to the bright lights of expensive flats and penthouses. How could such wealth and such poverty exist side by side?

An old song floated through her head as she watched people walk past. She couldn't remember the exact words but the verses kept repeated in her head.

_ Have you seen the old girl  
>Who walks the streets of London<br>Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?  
>She's no time for talking,<br>She just keeps right on walking  
>Carrying her home in two carrier bags<em>

_ So how can you tell me you're lonely,  
>And say for you that the sun don't shine?<br>Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London  
>I'll show you something to make you change your mind<em>

_ And have you seen the old man  
>Outside the seaman's mission<br>Memory fading, __w__ith the medal ribbons that he wears.  
>In our winter city,<br>The rain cries a little pity  
>For one more forgotten hero<br>And a world that doesn't care_

Sighing she pulled her coat around her body and stuck her hands into her pockets. Did Sherlock think she didn't care?

On inspiration she took her notebook and purse out of her bag. She quickly wrote a note, tore it out and wrapped a £1 coin in it, making a small folded parcel. She did this a further 5 times, using all the coins she had in her purse.

Picking up her bag, she began to walk back the way she came.

"Spare some change?" said a young woman and stuck a small plastic cup under her nose as she passed by.

Molly nodded, and dropped in one of her prepared packages. The woman looked puzzled. "Just pass the message on, to all your friends," said Molly walked on.

The girl dipped into the cup and pulled apart the note. Pocketing the pound coin she stared after her, watching as she did the same to the next beggar and the next. She read the note "I believe. Moriarty was real."

S S S S S S S S

When Sherlock had left Barts that morning, he had no clear idea of how to proceed. He debated making contact with Lestrade, but discarded the idea immediately. The less people that knew he was still alive the better. There was only so much Sherlock could do without help. He wanted to speak to Molly. He wanted to see John. But neither was an option. Instead he spent the day in Hyde Park, sitting under a sheltered tree and staring at the lake.

When it began to get late, he wandered back to the railway arches. It was almost 10pm when Sherlock finally shuffled towards the oil barrel that someone had lit to take the chill off the air under the arch.

Sherlock nodded by way of greeting to a couple of the other men already there. All were older than Sherlock by several years. He saw one of them standing at the barrel warming his hands.

"Oh it's you Benji," the old man said happily. "Bit worried when you didn't show last night. Thought you might be brownbread."

Sherlock gave a strained laugh, and affected a broad London accent "Nah Ted. Not me. Just found a warm bed for the night."

Ted grimaced, showing several blackened and missing teeth. "He didn't make you do anything you didn't want to, did he Benjamin?"

Inwardly Sherlock cringed at the assumption he had prostituted himself, but continued his cover. "It could've been worse. And don't call me Benjamin – you sound like my father. It's Ben or Benji."

Ted continued as if Sherlock hadn't spoken. "Ah, at least you got the looks Benji. Those city types like a pretty bit of rough, but you be careful." Ted settled down on a sleeping bag near the wall. "Remember what I said."

"I know Ted. Take the cash, not the drugs," said Sherlock obediently. Sherlock stared quietly into the fire. "I don't do drugs."

"That's good kid." There was a pause. "But I can tell you used to"

Sherlock looked over at him curiously. "Really?"

Ted sighed and looked at the bricks making up the ceiling. "Look, you're clean now, and that's all that counts. But I saw you looking at Bobby the other day when he was shooting up. That wasn't curiosity 'bout what he was doing. That was lust – I saw it in your eyes. And I mean for the drugs not Bobby."

Sherlock whispered quietly. "It was a long time ago."

"Yeah? Good for you." Ted started to cough, a long drawn out hacking cough.

Sherlock reached into his rucksack, pulled out a bottle of water, and passed it to him. "That cough is getting worse mate."

Ted took a drink and fell back on to his pile of bedding. "Thanks. But I'll survive"

Silence fell and Sherlock looked over. Ted was asleep. Sherlock arranged his rucksack into a pillow shape and lay down.

He remembered the day Lestrade decided to visit 221b for a 'drugs bust' when in reality he was trying to put Sherlock back in his place. The look of incredulity on John's face as he realised what Sherlock was saying when he had suggested that John "really should shut up now." But the unwavering faith that John had shown him then, when really they had only just met, was unbelievable. However Sherlock was clean and Lestrade knew it. But it didn't mean he didn't have a past.

Sherlock sighed quietly. Ted had been right - it was lust. He needed to find a way to return to his old life quickly. Or he really wouldn't survive on the streets on his own.

S S S S S S S S S

The song is "Streets of London" by Ralph McTell. However I know it sung by Roger Whittaker.

I thought I had done something in chapter 7, with Wagstaff, but no one has commented on it. Don't know whether I should be happy or sad about that.

Thank you again for your reviews. I look forward to them with great anticipation.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock

Characters: John, Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

Thought it was about time John got a part.

Thanks for your kind reviews. All reviews both positive and negative are gratefully received and truly appreciated. Sorry for the delay in updating - I'm currently off sick with the flu – and even breathing is tiring, let along typing & thinking!

S S S S S S S

There was always a queue at St Agnes' soup kitchen first thing in the morning. It was one of the few places that provided a free basic hot meal and drink for the homeless. Sherlock shuffled along in the queue. It was more a requirement to conform and fit in, rather than desire for food that made him accompany Ted this morning.

He took his mug of tea, and a plate of food, and sat down next to Ted. Sherlock sipped his tea and inspected the toast, scrambled eggs and sausage that occupied his place. "Here Ted, you have this, I'm really not hungry."

Ted shrugged and took the plate "Ta muchly, Ben."

Another man joined them at the table, "How's it going Ted?"

"Can't complain, Joe, can't complain."

Joe mopped his place with a piece of toast. "So, have you come across the nutty woman yet?"

Sherlock said nothing, watching the rest of crowds that came in. Ted shook his head. "What nutty woman?"

"It's odd. I've heard over 20 people this morning talking about it." said Joe with his mouth full. "There's some nutter who has been giving £2 coins to loads of homeless people, all along the embankment."

"Really?" said Ted. "Sounds more charitable than nutty."

"Yeah, but here's the thing." said Joe, enjoying the attention. "All the coins are wrapped in a note." He took a slurp of tea.

Sherlock pricked up his ears, "What kind of note?" he asked casually.

"A handwritten one. The woman says, pass on the message to your friends, gives them two quid and leaves. Given how many people are talking about it, I think she must have given out well over 50 of them."

"What'sa message then?" said Ted.

Joe fumbled in his coat pocket. "I got one here." He pulled it out, and held it up. "'I believe'. But Dave got one that says 'Moriarty was real'."

"Can I see it?" said Sherlock.

"Young Jacko says it's his guardian angel doing it." said Joe laughing and passing the note over. "He says the Angel gave him a fiver."

Joe passed the note over, and Sherlock read it for himself. "Jacko?" he asked.

Joe nodded. "Yep, Young Jacko beds down in the doorways near the nurses entrance to Barts. They're usually good for a bit of spare change, but apparently this 'Angel' didn't look like a nurse."

Sherlock stood up. "Ted, I'll see you around. I got places I need to be." He passed the remainder of his cup of tea to Joe. "See you Joe."

"You be careful Ben." said Ted. "Take it easy."

"You too."

As he left the soup kitchen, Sherlock paused to look back the crowd of homeless people still queuing for food. He saw one of the volunteers taking out a bag of rubbish and approached him.

"See that chap over there," said Sherlock pointing out Ted. Sherlock handed him £10. "He's sick. He needs medical attention. Can you make sure he sees a doctor?"

"OK." he looked at Sherlock. "Who are you?"

"No one important." said Sherlock, and left the kitchens, throwing his small rucksack over his shoulder.

S S S S S S S S

Molly was really pleased with herself as she sat in her lab. She had risen extra early this morning, written out 60 notes for Sherlock, and then begged every newsagent within a ½ mile radius of her flat for change of £10 a note in £2 coins. It had taken her over an hour to pass out all the notes and coins to the various begging homeless people she had found. Now all she could do was wait, and hope.

She started to hum to herself as she walked towards the morgue. She was really hopeful that she could make it up to Sherlock; that he would hear about her message and come home.

Molly was still humming tunelessly as she entered the morgue, but stopped as she saw John waiting there. He looked dreadful. His eyes seemed to be both sunken and red. His clothes whilst clean, were crumpled, and he'd manage to button his shirt up incorrectly. Molly had never seen John look quite so uncoordinated. He was also using his cane again.

"You sound happy," he said.

Molly could hear the accusation in his tone.

"John. I …" she panicked. What could she say? "I've been meaning to call you."

"Really?" John's voice was hollow and empty.

Molly approached him. "I miss him too."

John looked into her eyes, and noted the sincerity. "I know. It's just ..." He wiped his eyes.

Molly tugged his sleeve and pulled in over to a chair. "Sit there. I'll get you some tea."

A small twitch of his facial muscles sufficed for a smile. "That sounds nice."

He sat in silence until she returned carrying two mugs of tea and a couple of packs of biscuits.

"You haven't been eating have you?" she said softly.

Silence.

Molly tried again. "Have you 'talked' to anyone." she asked tactfully.

"I tried." John's voice broke. He coughed, "I saw my shrink. She just doesn't understand. She didn't know him. She doesn't get it. She believed the newspapers."

Molly reached out to hold his hand. "It's OK."

John collapsed sobbing quietly into her shoulder. "I don't know why I'm like this."

She rubbed his back soothingly. "He was your friend John. It's OK to feel bad." They stayed sitting like that for while. Molly just holding him.

Finally John sniffed and sat back awkwardly. "Thanks."

"Do you want to talk to me? I mean... I knew him too."

He sighed heavily. "I've seen death, Molly. I've had men die on my operating table. I've seen men shot in front of me, one moment joking about going home to their wife, the next their brains showering my face as a sniper killed them. I was soldier, and I've even killed, " he stared into her eyes waiting to see is she reacted. "But Sherlock was different. He was the most alive person I've ever met. I just keep replaying everything over and over in my head. Everything he said. How he was a fake, and the fall..." he choked.

Molly hugged him again. "I can't make it better John. But I don't think he was a fake. We both saw him in action. Deducing everything from a glance."

"I know he was a complete arse to you. But you are the only person I have ever seen him apologise to and actually mean it."

Molly dropped her head and hugged him harder. "He wouldn't want you to be like this. I'm sure he wouldn't."

John drew back slightly, and looked at her again. "I never understood why he was so awful to you. And yet you were always there for him. He should have noticed you Molly."

Molly blushed, "I think I was just a convenient source of bodies for him." Molly decided to change the subject. "How is Mrs Hudson?"

"She's coping better than I am." said John.

Molly picked up her tea. "I thought her and Sherlock were close."

"Oh they were. She's just going through the motions of keeping busy. She's talking about redecorating her flat. She even hired a local builder. But he's disappeared leaving her in a right old mess. Stripped all the paper off in the hallway. I was thinking I give her hand to sort it out myself if he doesn't come back soon."

"Poor thing. It must be really difficult being in chaos at a time like this."

"Yeah. She's tried calling him, but his mobile seems to be turned off. There's never any reply. Fortunately he hadn't actually taken any money from her. Said to pay him at the end of the job." he shrugged.

"Odd."

"Mrs Hudson asked me to speak to Lestrade about it, but I think that was more to get me out the house. I can't quite see Lestrade being interested in a small time Bob the Builder that hasn't conned an old lady out of money."

Molly giggled, "Bob the Builder?" she asked.

"Yeah," said John. "His first name was Bob. Bob Wagstaff, so his nickname was Bob the Builder."

Molly dropped her mug.

"Jesus Molly. Are you OK. You've gone as white as a sheet." He bent over to retrieve her mug.

"Did you ever meet this Bob?" she asked shakily. "John, it's really important. Did you see him?"

"Just briefly. I saw him in the hallway with Mrs Hudson, when Sherlock faked the call about her being shot. Why Molly, what's up."

"You need to see this." Molly led him over to the refrigerator, and opened the drawer containing Wagstaff's body and pulled back the sheet.

"Bloody hell Molly." exclaimed John looking down at the body. "That's him. That's Bob. I recognise all the tattoo's. What the hell happened?"

Molly closed the drawer. "He was found dead at a warehouse. Lestrade is looking into the death."

John shook his head. "This is unbelievable."

"I think you should go and see Lestrade," she said firmly.

John nodded. "I think you're right."

"But first, you're going to use the showers down the hall. It'll make you feel better. And you should dress yourself properly too."

John looked down at his shirt. "Point taken." He leant over and kissed her cheek. "Thank you Molly Hooper. For being there for me." he went to the door. "I'll pop back before I go."

John suddenly felt he had a lot more purpose than he'd had before. He began to hum slightly as he headed to the showers.

S S S S S S S S

Molly was kneeling down cleaning up the split tea when a pair of Doc Marten's boots entered her field of vision. She looked up startled.

Sherlock stood there a little unsure of the welcome he would receive. "Hello Molly," he said calmly. "I got your message."

Molly scrambled to her feet and flung herself at him, throwing her arms around his huge frame. "Oh Sherlock! I am so sorry."

Sherlock was overwhelmed at her reaction. "Can I take it, you've forgiven me?"

"I didn't mean it, any of it." she rambled. "I was scared. Of course I trust you. I'm sorry you thought I didn't. Please don't go away again."

Awkwardly he hugged her back. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I apologise."

"You just can't say 'sorry' can you," she joked. Molly suddenly pushed him away. "You've got to hide. Quickly, go to the observation room. John's here."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but allowed himself to be pushed towards the observation room at the back of the morgue. "Define here?"

"In the shower, down the hall." she hissed. "He'll be back soon."

"What's he doing here?"

"He came to see me," she whispered. "He's really not doing very well."

Sherlock stopped moving. "What?"

Molly glanced at the door. "We'll talk later. You have to hide."

Reluctantly Sherlock entered the observation room, and sat on the floor, hiding out of sight of the main lab.

Molly had just re-entered the lab, when John returned. He looked a lot fresher.

He stopped in the middle of the lab and did a twirl for her. "Better?"

Molly nodded approvingly. "Much better. Er, how do you feel now?"

John ran a hand through his still damp hair. "I don't think I'll be running any marathons for while," he smiled. "But I think I can face Lestrade and Donovan."

Molly was desperate for John to go. "Take care John. Please call me and let me know what they say."

John hugged her goodbye and waved cheerily from the door.

As soon as the door closed, Molly ran and locked it. She turned to see Sherlock coming into the Lab.

"Why is John going to Lestrade?" he asked.

Molly realised that Sherlock had no idea about Wagstaff. "You sent Lestrade to the warehouse didn't you?" she said walking towards the refrigerator .

"Warehouse?" he queried innocently.

Molly opened the drawers again and drew back the sheets covering the bodies. "Don't play dumb Sherlock, it really doesn't suit you. Wagstaff and Giggs."

"Ah you mean Templeton."

"Yes." she sighed. "You did arrange that didn't you?"

He nodded watching her reaction. "Has that upset you?"

Molly shook her head. "No."

"Good. They were Moriarty's men. I wouldn't necessarily be able to prove it in a court of law, but the circumstantial evidence was there."

"I can prove it. I found a branding."

"What branding?" Sherlock tipped his head on one side and watched as she pointed out the unusual cross shaped branding.

"Lestrade said they'd had over 14 bodies with similar branding."

Sherlock studied it closely. "Interesting." He turned to her suddenly. "14? Did you think they were all me?"

"It crossed my mind for second," she confessed, "but the time line was wrong."

"So not worried I am a mass murderer then."

"Not at all." said Molly firmly. "You might be many things, but I would never have thought you were a murderer."

"There's something else, I can tell."

"I think this man Wagstaff was the assassin assigned to Mrs Hudson."

Sherlock looked her surprised. "How do you know that?"

"John recognised him. John said that he was the builder Mrs Hudson hired. I think you managed to get two birds with one stone. You not only found Templeton who was planning to take out Lestrade, but also Wagstaff who would have killed Mrs Hudson. And got them to kill each other."

Sherlock looked down at Wagstaff again. "I didn't realise." He hugged her again impulsively, "you've done it again Molly. You saved Lestrade, and now you've saved Mrs Hudson."

Molly leaned into the hug. "You did it, I just tidied up."

Sherlock started pacing around the lab. "The thing about these type of people is they tend to work in isolation. Each with their own job. They don't pass information between each other. There won't be anyone waiting to step into their shoes."

"So no one to take over the kill order?"

"No. That just leaves one. The gunman that was assigned to kill John."

"I don't know how you're going to find him. We don't have anything to go on."

"I wouldn't say that." said Sherlock. "We know he was watching John, and we know where John was. Therefore the killer would be within that vicinity."

"But John was at Bart's with you."

"Yes. Which probably means the killer was here too."

S S S S S S S S S

Thanks to everyone for their encouragement to continue this. I really appreciate all your comments. I apologise in advance for any typo's – brain is a bit cotton woolly at the moment.

#believeinsherlock


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock

Characters: John, Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

Sorry for the unbelievable delay. I was sick, then there was just too much real work and college work. I have two more pieces of work to do by next Wednesday. But here is a little chapter to keep going, and I will write more over the long weekend.

But thanks for sticking with the story, and for the kind reviewers chasing me up for more.

S S S S S S S

They left Barts just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, and the street lights came on. Sherlock was still wearing his street clothes and it had taken them 3 attempts to find a cabbie that would take them. On their walk to the taxi rank, Molly had stopped to give a small bag of sandwiches and a bottle of water to young boy in a door way. She had glanced in Sherlock's direction, half challenging him to say something. He didn't outwardly acknowledge her gesture, but inwardly he felt warmed and a little surprised by her actions. He was back, why would she still be nice to the homeless.

Once back at her flat he immediately took a shower and changed into some clean clothes.

Molly made them a light supper of pasta, which Sherlock ignored and then surreptitiously tried to feed to Toby. He then sat on her sofa, tapping away at her laptop.

"Did you hack my password?" she asked suddenly realising what he was doing.

"Well hack rather over emphasises the level of skill involved," he stated. "Toby123 was only my second guess."

"What was your first guess?" Molly asked curiously, "no actually, don't tell me. I'm not sure I really want to know. What are you doing?"

Sherlock turned the computer screen around to face her. It showed a satellite map and street view of St Barts. "If someone was watching Moriarty and I, there are only a few places that we could be observed from." He indicated the roof area to Molly. "This was the highest point, but there are some other buildings, here, here and here that could be potential sniper points."

Molly looked. "OK. Well the first one is the Maternity wing."

"Unlikely then. Too many people, too much security, 24 x 7 comings and goings. Next."

"I think that's Admin."

"OK. That's a possibility."

"And the other one is a secure unit for psychiatrics."

"Interesting." Sherlock mused.

"Possibly not. You need a security pass to get in there and I think they have a lot of cameras."

Sherlock sat back and pondered. "Yes, but in all areas of a hospital, there are cleaners. And they pretty much venture unchallenged everywhere. Also a Senior Doctor would probably have access. I expect that Moriarty could easily have one of those on his payroll."

"You think a Doctor was the sniper?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Unlikely, but then Moriarty would probably like turning a Doctor into a killing machine."

Molly sighed. "So back to the hospital in the morning then?"

"Yes, but I am going to need a few accessories. Where did you put all my make up?"

S S S S S S S

The following morning, Molly had left Sherlock at the flat while she went to work. He assured her that he would be fine, and would see her at Barts later around lunchtime.

She kept watching the clock all morning, worried when it reached 2pm and she hadn't heard from him. She jumped slightly as an old stooped hispanic man pushing a cleaning cart entered the lab and coughed noisily as he began to mop the floor.

"Please leave that," she began, but her jaw dropped as the 'old' man began to stand up right and speak.

"Do you know how really dirty this hospital is?" he enquired.

"Sherlock?" She took in his clothes and his rather tanned face.

"You were expecting someone else?"

Molly shook her head. "That was amazing. How did you learn to do that?"

"I always rather enjoyed the end of year school play." He twirled the mop. "But someone I always ended up as the female lead."

"Did you have a successful morning?"

"I managed to cover all the hallways and stairwells of the psychiatric unit. Our assassin wasn't in that building."

"So probably the Admin block then."

Sherlock stretched. "Most likely, however given the number of people that have access to that building, which is practically everyone, it becomes quite hard to narrow the field of suspects."

"I did have one idea this morning," she said hesitantly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Really Molly, a whole one? With out a safety net?"

Molly rolled her eyes but carried on. "I was getting some tea from the nurses station, and one of them was complaining about having to walk over to the 4th floor in the Admin Building to drop off some paperwork, but the North stair case was blocked off. So she had to use the South one, which took longer and made her late. So I checked. The North stair case has been blocked off for renovation for the last 2 weeks, but Gary the handyman doesn't think the job had been started yet."

Sherlock pulled a map out of his pocket. It showed the layout of Barts. "The North stairs would be here," he said indicating a point on the map. "Which would directly overlook the area we need. Well done Molly. Your need for tea and propensity for eavesdropping may have been of benefit."

"Thanks. I think." she said.

Sherlock put the map back in his pocket and fell back into character of the old man. He mumbled appropriately and began to push the cleaning cart out the lab.

"Please be careful," Molly pleaded.

He glanced her way and nodded. "See you at home later."

Sherlock shuffled his way along the corridor and upstairs towards one of the man walkways that connected the various buildings that made up Barts. It took him longer than he expected, after being requested to clean up a tea spillage en route. He shuddered at the thought that it could have been a lot worse.

Finally he found his way to the correct stairwell, and after parking his cart in a convenient cupboard, slipped past the 'do not enter' notice posted on the stairwell door.

He paused listening for sounds of activity above. Silence.

Quickly Sherlock climbed the stairs pausing at each level to inspect the windows. It was clear that all the windows hadn't been opened in many years. Each had several layers of paint sealing them shut. However it was a different story on the landing between the 6th and 7th floor.

Sherlock tried the window and it opened easily. Inspecting the paintwork he found that it had been cut with a sharp knife. Inspecting the windowsill he could see faint scratches where a tripod had been positioned. This was definitely the spot.

He crouched down and looked at the view from the window. The gunman would have clearly seen both Moriarty and Sherlock on the roof, as well as John below. Sherlock pulled out the map again. As he had wondered the corridors, he had marked out the position of the security cameras within the building as well as the ones observed outside. But as the gunman could have left from almost any exit, they didn't help much. However there were 2 cameras that might have caught a glimpse of the assassin within the window. Neither were controlled by the hospital though.

Sherlock sighed. He would have to go to the one person that he really didn't want to speak to. Or perhaps Molly would.

S S S S S S S


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock

Characters: John, Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

Thank you for all your lovely reviews. I am really surprised at how exciting it is to see them in my email. Also those people who follow the story without leaving a review – I don't bite, and would love to know what you think. :-)

S S S S S S S

Sherlock had forced Molly to take a taxi to her destination. "It is imperative to make the right impression," he had said coldly.

Molly had nodded quietly, but had mumbled something about it being expensive too.

Sherlock had also routed through her entire wardrobe before pulling out a smart two piece suit in dark blue and holding up.

"That is my interview suit," she had protested.

Cocking his head on one side, he'd considered her statement. "You already have a job. A job you have no intention of quitting. This hasn't seen the light of day for at least," he inspected the cuff, "4 years. It also looks like it was purchased at a shop rather than a jumble sale." He gestured to her current cardigan and blouse. "Oxfam or Sue Ryder?"

Molly bit her lip, and tried to remember that she was glad he was back and not sleeping on the streets. "It was new – handmade by volunteers," she had protested.

Ignoring her Sherlock had also pulled out a satin cream top and impossibly high heels that she had purchased on whim but never worn. "Try these on," he commanded.

Molly looked at the top he had chosen and blushed. "Sherlock, that goes under a blouse. I can't wear it without something else over the top."

"Yes. You can." he'd insisted. "It is very important that you look the part."

"I don't think I've ever seen a member of parliament dress like this."

"You have obviously never attended the same parties that Mycroft attends," was Sherlock's response.

Smoothing down the skirt in the back of the taxi Molly had to admit that the suit, shoes and small brief case she carried gave her a thrill.

She briefly flicked a tongue over her glossy red lips. He had taken control of her small bag of make up and in the matter of moments had expertly applied the lipstick and eye shadow. He came within inches of her face as he studied her eyes, applying just the right amount of colour. He had thrown away her old red Christmas Lipstick, saying it was the wrong shade of red, and picked something out that was less garish. He had held her face steady as he had applied it. Molly barely breathing as he used a small make up brush to outline her lips first.

"The purpose of lipstick is attract attention Molly."

"I remember your comment from Christmas, thank you." she said firmly. "Compensation I think you said."

Sherlock had the good grace to look away. "Yes. Well I had to notice it in the first place." He looked at her again. "I am sorry."

"I know."

Glancing in the mirror of the Taxi, Molly had to admit she looked good. A very different Molly. But good.

She fiddled with the clasp on her bag, pulling out a note book to reminder herself once more exactly what she needed to say, before putting it away again.

The Taxi pulled up outside the Diogenes club and Molly climbed out handing some money to the driver.

Molly took a deep breath and straighten up. It's all show, she reminded herself. I'm in control.

Steeling herself she looked up at the entrance before turning her back to the door, and staring at the almost identical house opposite.

Crossing the road she walked purposefully up the steps. A sign declared the building to be the home of Venus Enterprises. Pushing open the unlocked door, she found herself in a large beautiful hall way. The whole room was exquisitely decorated, with marble and sumptuous wallpapers. There were two identical desks, one with a immaculately coiffured lady, and the other by a handsome young man.

Both of them looked her in her direction, but neither said anything.

Glancing briefly at both of them, Molly approached the woman. "I don't have a reservation, but I would like to be admitted."

"I am sorry," said said the Receptionist, with a heavy French accent. "That is not possible."

Molly gave a theatrical sigh. "That is very disappointing. Never mind." Molly turned to leave.

"Your name mademoiselle ?" the receptionist asked.

"No name. Perhaps I was misinformed about the nature of this establishment. I was under the impression from a friend that this is a private club, that caters for an MP's particular needs." Molly called over her shoulder walking to the door.

Suddenly the phone on the man's desk ran, just once and then stopped. "One moment please," he called to Molly. "It appears my colleague was mistaken. Our proprietor requests the pleasure of your company on the 2nd Floor."

Molly turned and smiled sweetly at him. "Thank you."

As Molly ascended the staircase, something that wouldn't have looked out of place at Buckingham Palace, she tried hard to make it look like this was something she did every day. Rather than the trudge to the basement morgue.

On the second floor, there was a set of double doors, that stood ajar. Molly walked through the doors, and was surprised to find herself in a large sitting room.

A gentleman stood to greet her offering her his hand. "I apologise for any inconvenience," he said smoothly, bowing and kissing the back of her hand. "My staff are so protective of my time. I am George."

Molly smiled. "Thank you George. But I came here to see the Organ grinder, not the monkey."

"What a deliciously appropriate turn of phrase you have," said a voice from behind Molly.

Molly turned to watch Irene Adler enter the room. She was wearing a black and red leather basque, fishnet stockings and the most amazing high heeled leather boots that Molly had ever seen.

"Sorry, I was in tied up for moment."

Irene inspected Molly. "I mistook you at first for a rather junior civil servant. But I recognise your face from the tabloids," Irene stated as she dismissed George, with a wave of her hand, and walked further into the room, circling Molly. "Miss Molly Hooper I believe."

Molly nodded. "And I believe I should call you Dione."

At the sound of the name, Irene paused. "He told you."

"Yes."

Irene smiled wickedly. "We did have fun. I am sorry I couldn't attend the funeral, but I think given I was dead you can understand why I wasn't there."

"I almost met you once before. I had the pleasure of doing your post mortem. Or rather the post mortem of your assistant."

Irene's smiled dropped. "Yes. Unpleasant times." Irene indicated to a chair for Molly sit. "Well what can I do for you Miss Hooper? I doubt you actually would like any of my specialities – although then again, under that rather severe persona, perhaps you would."

Molly took a deep breath and looked Irene directly in the eye. "Sherlock and I had dinner once."

Irene picked an imaginary bit of fluff of her leather wrist band. "I doubt that."

Molly tried to feign nonchalance. "I don't care what you believe."

"So little old you and Sherlock. Well stranger things have happened. Did he take your pulse? He had so many adorable little traits."

"I am here about your debt to Sherlock. You owe him, and I intend to collect."

"Goodness me," laughed Irene. "What exactly do I owe Sherlock?"

"You are alive. Moriarty is dead. Sherlock made sure you could survive, if not flourish. Now with Moriarty dead, you could reappear. Sherlock protected you, and instead you deliberately set up 'shop' opposite the Diogenes club, just to rub Mycroft's nose in it."

"Mycroft thinks I am dead."

"Not any more. Sherlock's Will contained exact details of what he did to help you. He knows you're back."

Irene stood and moved to a drinks cabinet at the end of the room. "So what? If Moriarty is dead, there is nothing Mycroft can do."

"Who knows what Mycroft can do? Right now, you don't have to worry about him. He doesn't care about you. But that can change."

"I don't understand what this has to do with me, and why you want to clear Sherlock's name."

"I am not prepared to go into details about that." Molly stood and walked towards her. "Suffice to say, I have my own reasons. But you can help me, and I can make sure Mycroft does nothing to you."

"What do you want?"

Molly opened the case and took out an envelope. "All the details are in here. Buildings around the area of St Barts Hospital, the roads, shops, everything. I want all the security camera footage from that day including the police cameras. I have included an address of a drop off point for the tapes or disks."

Irene took the envelope and tucked it into the strap on her bodice. "What makes you think I can get them."

Molly walked away towards the door. "Because you're you. And because I think you know what the owners of those building like."

Irene followed Molly out the door, and watched as Molly descended the stairs. "If you had dinner with Sherlock, what did he choose. Beef or lamb?"

Molly smiled privately to herself. "Neither. He wasn't hungry."

S S S S S S S


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock

Characters: John, Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

Sorry for the absolutely stupid delay. I will finish this story. I am just very busy, with work, college and family. Bear with me.

But thanks for sticking with the story, and for the kind reviewers chasing me up for more.

S

Sherlock and Molly were on tenterhooks for a week waiting for Irene to complete her task. However they were not disappointed.

Irene had kept to her side of the bargain, and exactly 7 days after Molly had visited her, 4 large tea chests were delivered to Molly's house by Christies Auction House.

"My neighbours are going to think I'm running drugs to afford deliveries like this." She said as she squeezed past the 2 crates still in her hall. "I didn't even think you could get tea chests anymore."

"If anyone decides to check, Christies Auction house will show that an M Hooper has just purchased 4 crates of miscellaneous china and glassware from an estate sale." Sherlock said placing the 4th crate in the lounge. "I had to put the other one in the bathroom." He immediately set to work removing the newspaper concealing the contents.

"The bathroom! Sherlock…" Molly broke off and sighed resignedly. "OK. Tea?"

"Hmm – Yes, tea would be good." He said absentmindedly rummaging deeply into the box.

Molly peaked into the bathroom, just to check she could actually access her toilet, and was stunned to see the tea chest perched precariously on her bath. Tobias was already sitting on top of it, like it was a throne. "Don't get too comfortable up there," she said to him. Shaking her head she entered the kitchen to make the tea. "Christies. Like I would shop at Christies."

Returning to the lounge with a tray of tea things, she found Sherlock was already watching one of the video tapes of that day. It appeared to be the main entrance of the hospital. He had it on fast forwards and was intently staring at the screen.

"How much of that are you taking in?" she asked in amazement.

"Shussh," he said, his eyes not leaving the screen. "I'm concentrating."

"Can I help?"

Sherlock didn't answer, just held his hand out and Molly carefully slid a cup and saucer into it.

Molly sighed and decided it would probably be better to leave him to it. "I'll go and do the shopping." No response. "I'll see you later then."

Sherlock didn't acknowledge, her still staring at the screen watching the figures rush in and out of the doors like a Benny Hill sketch.

S

Suddenly Sherlock looked around to speak to Molly. But she wasn't there.

"Molly?" called Sherlock. "I need more tea." There was no reply. "MOLLY!"

Molly stumbled into the lounge tying her dressing gown and rubbing her eyes. "For goodness sake, Sherlock. Keep the noise down."

"You weren't here."

"What?" she said sleepily.

"I wanted to speak to you and you weren't here."

Molly stared at him in amazement. "It is 3am in the morning. It is also Thursday. You haven't spoken a word to me in 4 days, since you started watching those tapes and disks."

"4 days?"

"You haven't slept, you haven't eaten, you haven't moved other than to put a new tape in the machine."

"But I know who is John's would be assassin is."

"That's great. Tell me in the morning."

"Don't you want to know?"

"Yes in the morning, Sherlock. I have just done a double shift, and can barely keep my eyes open."

"OK. Any chance of some tea?"

"Make it yourself," she said wearily heading back out the door. "I'm going back to bed."

"So no tea?"

"No Sherlock. No tea."

Molly's body decided that all the talk of tea was enough to require a bathroom visit. Muttering under her breath locked the door. Tobias her cat was now asleep amid the newspaper in the bath. He didn't even open his eyes as she turned on the bathroom light. "At least you're getting some sleep."

Molly then returned to her bedroom. She hadn't switched the light on in her room, and she padded quietly to right of the bed. She was just climbing under the covers when she realized there was already someone in the bed. Startled she turned on her bedside lamp.

Sherlock was lying on the left hand side of the bed he appeared to already be asleep. Molly stared at him, trying to convince herself she was still asleep and this was just a dream. But no – he was there. He had thoughtfully remained fully clothed, and was lying on top of the duvet, but under her patchwork quilt.

Molly froze in position. She heart pounded but she couldn't bring herself to say a word.

"The bath is full of tapes and paper, and I can't sleep on your sofa," he said quietly, his eyes still closed. "You don't mind sharing do you?"

Breathe, Molly told herself. Just breathe. "Would it matter if I did?"

Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Just go to sleep Molly."

Molly carefully climbed into bed, ensuring she was under the duvet and there was at least a handbreadth of distance between them, and then turned the light off.

Can my life get any more bizarre, she thought as she lay there listening to Sherlock's rhythmic breathing. She was amazed that Sherlock had managed to remain awake for so long. John had mentioned to her his strange sleep patterns, but someone telling you, and seeing it for yourself were two different things.

Finally her exhaustion from the last few days won out and she fell asleep.

Molly had always had incredibly vivid dreams, but of course that also made for incredibly vivid nightmares. Fortunately for her, the nightmares were very rare, and Molly had always loved that brief moment upon waking, when it was possible to dive back into a good dream for a few precious minutes.

Keeping her eyes closed she smiled as she placed herself back in the dream. She in a beautiful royal blue chiffon dress, covered in sparling crystals that glinted and caught the light as she twirled across the dance floor. Sherlock is a dark suit of midnight blue, with satin lapels, elegant and gentlemanly. He guided her gracefully and gently, his hand on her bare lower back as they finished their dance in a close embrace.

She sighed contentedly as he held her close to him. Sherlock gazed adoring at her, then he bent down slowly and whispered quietly in her ear, "you do know you are drooling, don't you?"

Molly's eyes immediately shot open, dream over, to see Sherlock's piercing blue eyes staring at her. She was half lying across him, half embraced by him, her leg thrown over his, just as she had been in her dream, well apart from being horizontal rather than vertical, and she was dribbling on him.

"Nice dream?" he asked pleasantly.

Molly struggled to disentangle herself from him and the duvet, and in her haste managed to fall off the edge of the bed. He peered over the edge of the bed and watched with amusement as she righted herself.

"Obviously a Waltz. European not American Smooth," he said.

She paused. "How …?"

"How did I know you were dreaming of dancing? Or how do I know the difference?" He leapt from the bed gracefully, and began to straighten the pillows.

"Either!"

"You move in your sleep, with a sense of timing you don't demonstrate during the day. The movements weren't quick enough for a tango or samba. Therefore a waltz."

Molly blushed at the thought of her moving against him in the night. "Oh."

"And the style," he had the grace to look away. "My mother forced me to take lessons. With the European waltz you stay in hold, with the American Smooth, you can dance alone."

"You can dance?" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Only if absolutely necessary," he said with a serious expression. "And only with the right partner."

There was silence for a moment, until Molly suddenly remembered his exclamation from last night. "Last night, you said you'd solved it. You know who had been sent to kill John."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Along with 12 affairs, 3 cases of petty theft, and 4 cases of domestic violence, I identified the man that was sent to shoot John."

"And!"

"Get dressed. It's time we went to see Lestrade."

S


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock

Characters: John, Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

Thank you for all your lovely reviews. Again the real world intrudes on my life making my writing time limited. However thank you for all sticking with this. We are almost done.

Warning: some swear words in this chapter – but only because I couldn't image a certain conversation without them. :-)

It had taken Molly over half the cab ride to persuade Sherlock that turning up at Scotland Yard wasn't necessarily the best idea.

"Sherlock, remember you were on the run from the police, when you died." Molly whispered in hushed tones so the cab driver wouldn't hear her. She gripped his arm through his coat, willing him to understand, trying almost to physically hold him back. "Even if Lestrade didn't arrest you on sight, Donovan would. Please. You can't just say, 'Hi I'm back'. They won't understand."

Sherlock stared down at her tiny hand, on his arm. Molly rarely initiated any contact with him, so he immediately knew this was important to her. He noted the small scar, (kitchen knife not scalpel), the tiny traces of pink nail polish around the cuticles (remove in haste for work) and the small tremor (concern not fear). Molly had been there for him, even when he had screwed up by hypnotising her, she had forgiven him and had found a way to reach him. How did she do that? Why did she do it?

He had said once that she was more important than John. That he could be himself with her. Why should that matter? Why could she accept the flawed human that he was? She helped him, protected him, fed and watered him even. He knew she cared for him, perhaps, poor thing, she actually loved him.

Sherlock was aware that he was frequently called a psychopath or socio-path, he was even aware he did display some of their tendencies. He'd enjoyed taunting Andersen about the difference, even though to some experts there wasn't really one. But he was also aware it was a carefully constructed illusion. He understood emotions, and even felt them (he recognised his anger at the attack on Mrs Hudson), but had done his absolutely best to control his emotions and ensure they didn't encroach on his everyday life, and muddy his work.

Yet despite his bluster, and any protests the contrary, little Molly had found her way into that very tiny handful of individuals he actually did care about. Mrs Hudson, John and Molly. The idea struck him very simply. It felt right. Molly counted.

He cleared his throat, and Molly pulled her hand away, misreading the intent. "Sorry. I just think that …."

"You're right," he interrupted.

"What? I am?"

"Don't sound so surprised Molly," he said. "You made some good logical points."

"I did?" Molly looked stunned.

"Yes." Sherlock sighed. "So what do you suggest?"

Molly smiled. "Let's go back to the beginning." She leant forward and tapped on the glass separating them from the driver. "Sorry. Change of destination. St Barts please."

S

As John's taxi pulled up at St Barts, he told himself sternly that he wouldn't look up. He refused to acknowledge that spot on the roof, where Sherlock had deliberately ended his life. A lump formed in his throat, and tears sprung unbidden to his eyes, blurring his vision. Blinking the tears back, he paid the driver, and as the cab pulled away, he fixed his eyes at the door to the hospital. He would not give in.

"John?"

John turned to see Lestrade standing on the pavement. "Greg? What are you doing here?"

Lestrade shrugged. "I just arrived, I received a message from Molly."

"So did I. Any idea why?"

At that moment both their mobile phones chimed. A text message alert. Almost in unison they extracted their phones from their coats and read the message. "Look up."

Both men immediately sought the same place on the roof. John gasped, and Lestrade swore. Molly was standing on the edge of the roof. Her hair was being blown about severely by the wind, her coat and red scarf flapping wildly. She had a mobile phone in hand. Clearly visible she brought the phone up to her ear. John's phone began to ring.

John glanced at Lestrade. Lestrade nodded and ran in the direction of the hospital. John answered the phone, his eyes now firmly fixed on Molly on the roof. "Molly?"

"Hello John." her voice calm.

"Jesus Molly, what are you doing?"

"You need to be brave John."

"Please Molly. Please come down from up there."

"I'm fine John. But I need you do something for me."

John's heart pounded in his chest. No, not Molly too. "Molly, I swear, I will do anything you ask. But I need you to be safe. Will you please climb down from the edge."

"No John. I need you to listen. I want you to turn around."

"Don't do this, Molly. Please don't do this. Sherlock... Sherlock wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"John, I'm doing this for Sherlock. Turn around, please just turn around."

Terrible feelings of deja vu gripped John. "I can't Molly. I can't let you die too."

"If you turn around, everything will be all right. I promise. But you need to turn around, and look up at the building behind you."

John shook his head. "No."

"Turn around John. You would do it for Sherlock, do it for me."

John was breathing heavily. For a second instead of Molly standing there, it was Sherlock. His coat flapping in the breeze. John knew that Lestrade couldn't have made it up to the roof yet, and he had to keep her talking for a while longer. "Tell my why?" he begged.

"Why what?"

"Why I have to turn around."

"Because there is something you need to see. Something that won't make sense unless you see it for yourself."

"Promise me. Promise me you won't jump."

Molly's voice was calm and serene. "John, I am OK. I promise I won't jump. But this was the only way you and Greg would understand."

"OK. But keep talking to me." Reluctantly John tore his eyes away from the roof, and turned to face the building opposite.

"That's good John," said Molly reassuringly. "Now I want you to look up."

"What am I looking for?"

"Higher, above the door way, between the 6th and 7th floor, there's a window."

John scanned the building in front of him. Just as his eyes reached the correct floor, John felt a solid object smack into his chest. Stunned he fell backwards onto the ground. Groaning he felt his chest, his hand came away wet and sticky, covered in a yellow liquid.

"John... John, can you hear me?" Molly's voice came from the phone. He brought the phone back to his ear.

"Molly, what the hell was that?"

"That was a paint ball."

John rolled over and got up, looking back up to Molly. Lestrade was now standing next to her. She was pointing back to the window on the building opposite. He turned back to see what she was pointing at. There in the window between the 6th and 7th floor stood Sherlock in his black coat, looking down at John. In his arms rested a large paint ball gun.

Molly's voice broke through John's shock. "I'm sorry John, but you wouldn't have believed us. We had to show you."

Us. That simple word made him realize he wasn't seeing things. Sherlock was really there. John staggered backwards a step, dropped the phone and fell to his knees.

It seemed like seconds, and then Sherlock was there in front of him, helping him to his feet. "Are you OK?"

John's jaw dropped as he stared at him.

Sherlock gripped his arm. "I'm really here John."

John lost all resemblance of control at that point. "You bastard!" exclaimed John. "You complete tosser!" He lashed out with a solid fist, catching Sherlock on the jaw, causing him to stagger.

Sherlock rubbed his jaw, and wisely stepped back out of John's reach. "Do you feel better now?"

"No!" Seeing Molly on the roof, had kicked John's body into fight or flight mode. His adrenaline had been surging with concern for Molly, and the shock of Sherlock's reappearance had finally used up everything that had been left. John collapsed against the wall, his world spinning. Finally he looked up Sherlock, still nursing his jaw, "so, not dead."

Sherlock smiled a little. "No John. Not dead." He held out a hand, which John took shakily and then pulled him into a back slapping hug. "Git!"

"Forgive me John. But it was necessary."

John pulled back and stared at him. "And Molly knew?"

Sherlock nodded towards the hospital. "Let's go inside, and we'll explain everything."

S

More out of habit than necessity, they all gathered in the Morgue. John and Lestrade were perched on stools, whilst Molly, in anticipation of John's reaction, was already applying an ice pack to Sherlock's face.

To the shock of John and Lestrade, and somewhat to Molly's embarrassment, he squeezed her hand and thanked her as he took over holding the icepack to his jaw.

Lestrade couldn't wait any longer. "Sherlock, you need to tell me now, what the hell is going on."

Sherlock paused briefly as Molly passed John a pad of wet wipes to clear up the yellow paint now staining the front of his coat.

"You've already worked out that I survived the fall." Sherlock gestured towards Molly. "With a lot of assistance from Molly."

"But I saw you fall. I saw the head wound and the blood." John shuddered at the memory.

"Yes, you saw me fall, but you didn't see me land," corrected Sherlock. "A well placed building, a bag of blood, some slight of hand, and you saw what you thought you should see. Simple."

Molly coughed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well fairly simple."

"But why."

Sherlock tossed a paint ball to John. "Moriarty had men watching you, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. Moriarty informed me, that if I didn't jump, you would all be killed. I had guessed it was likely that I would need a way to disappear for a while, but I didn't know it would be for this long."

"But you could have told us," said John. "We could have helped."

"No John, I couldn't take that chance. All it took for you, was a moments distraction, and a sniper would have found you. Mrs Hudson, she actually had her would be assassin in the house."

"Wagstaff, the builder?" said John guessing at what Sherlock was saying.

"Yes. And Lestrade, well I didn't know for sure until I started looking. Andersen and Donovan seemed like improbable suspects, two people that incompetent couldn't survive working for Moriarty. And then I found Templeton. It was relatively easy to swipe his phone, and set him up. I had no idea that Wagstaff has been assigned to Mrs Hudson, Molly made that deduction."

Lestrade looked at Molly who was blushing. "I assume that's where you've been staying all this time, with Molly."

"From time to time. When I wasn't sleeping on the streets, or chasing down assassins," said Sherlock coldly. "You really should vet your police officers more closely."

John shook his head. "I can't believe this. I thought I was going mad. All around town I've been seeing graffiti, saying 'I believe in Sherlock', and 'Moriarty was real'. Was that you?"

"Actually that was me," said Molly quietly. "I was trying to find Sherlock, after …."

"After I had been on the streets for a while," Sherlock interrupted. Sparing Molly the need to explain why he'd left her flat. "The homeless network left the graffiti, I saw it as a sign to return to Molly."

"OK," said Lestrade. "So why the dramatics on the roof?"

"Too prove to you, that someone had been watching John, and the imminent danger he had been in." Sherlock pulled out several photos from his coat pocket. "These are stills from various CCTV cameras around the hospital. This is the man that was going to shoot John. When I jumped, it meant that the danger was past, and he didn't have to kill John. I needed to identify him, before I came back. I've disrupted most of Moriarty's network, but there was a chance that John could still be in danger. Now we know what he looks like, you can do your work, and find him."

"What about Moriarty? Everyone still thinks he is Richard Brook, and you're a fake."

Molly pulled a large envelope out of her bag. "A present from a friend," she said looking at Sherlock for approval. "The person who helped us with obtaining the CCTV images, also provided us with this. Evidence of Moriarty's activities, proof Moriarty kidnapped those kids, and evidence exonerating Sherlock. I believe it was her insurance." She handed it to Lestrade. "She will be releasing these documents at Midnight tomorrow to all media."

"And who is the contact?" asked Lestrade. "I might need more information."

"Don't even try, the woman is long gone," said Sherlock firmly.

John looked up sharply, but Sherlock shook his head imperceptibly. "She owed me a favour. The debt is now paid, in full," Sherlock said firmly.

Lestrade sighed and shook his head. "Incredible." He gathered up his coat and the papers provided by Molly and Sherlock. "Tomorrow, Scotland Yard, 10am. I will need statements from both of you." He nodded to John. "John," and left the morgue.

John stood up. "Is it really over?"

"Moriarty is dead. His network in tatters, 2 assassins dead and a third no undoubtedly on the run now. Yes it's over."

John wiped his coat again. "Did you have to use yellow paint?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I wanted to use red, but Molly thought that was going too far."

Sherlock strode towards the door, "come on John, we need to break to the news to Mrs Hudson, of my return to the land of the living."

John hurried out after him, leaving Molly standing in the now empty morgue.

S

Sherlock was half way along the corridor, John trailing in his wake, when he suddenly stopped and looked back the way he'd just walked.

"What's the matter?" asked John concerned

"Where's Molly?"

John was confused, "you just left her. Back in the morgue. Why?"

Sherlock stood indecisively for a moment, "It's wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Yes, Wrong," he stated flatly. "I need her."

"Well it took you long enough to work that one out!" said John smiling.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked puzzled.

"Sherlock, I think you need to ask yourself, what do _you_ mean?" said John.

Sherlock frowned. "She's a female doctor, Mrs Hudson might need her."

"Is that it? Nothing else."

"John, just come out and say it."

"You like her."

"Of course I like her. Molly has been invaluable during … "

John held up his hand, "No Sherlock. You _like_ her?" He tried again. "When was the last time you apologized to Greg? When was the last time you said thank you to anyone? You said thank you to Molly earlier for the icepack and she's the only person I've ever seen you apologize to - ever."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, processing the information.

"Look, why do you think I never tried it on with Molly?" asked John bluntly.

Sherlock felt a small flash of anger, "Because she's Molly? She's like a sister?"

"Good God. She's not like my sister. No, I never tried, because from the very first moment I saw her, bringing you coffee to the lab, which is at least 3 floors from the morgue, I could see that she only cared about one person. You. And strangely, she was the only person other than Mrs Hudson that you cared about." He paused slightly to see if anything was sinking in. "The debacle with Jim from IT was an attempt to make you jealous and it worked. You thought you were protecting Molly from a doomed relationship, in fact you were trying to make sure there was no relationship and she would be there for you."

"There is no relationship with me."

"Really? You just spent the last few weeks staying at her place because there is no relationship? She lied to the police and risked helping you because there is nothing there?. You care about her. She matters to you. I just don't think you have actually realised that yet."

He paused for a moment considering John's words. Finally Sherlock looked at John, "she counts."

"Yes she does." John agreed.

Molly was left alone in the morgue. Watching the door close after the pair of them, the sudden quiet was like an explosion in her head.

After having Sherlock around for so long, no matter how annoying he could be, she suddenly felt bereft. Sherlock had no further use for her, so she was cast aside, replaced by John. It took her a moment to suddenly realise that the adventure was over. It was now Sherlock and John. She was now a mere onlooker to the main event.

She looked around the room slowly, checking everything was back in place, and sighed quietly. She made her way slowly over to the far side of the room, to collect her coat and scarf from the work bench, where she'd left it. In her head she was pleased that everything had worked out well. Sherlock was vindicated, normality restored. But in her heart, well that was a different story.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back, standing tall. She'd miss him, but she was Molly Hooper, she would survive. She was also sure he'd be back soon enough, when he wanted a body to experiment on. She tried to smile, funny how he was more interested in dead bodies than he was in hers.

"Don't dawdle Molly."

Molly jumped and turned around. Sherlock was standing in the door way adjusting his scarf.

"Wh …What?"

He huffed slightly, "I thought we had got past the stammering Molly." He walked purposely to the bench and picked up her coat. He held it up like a valet, to assist her putting it on. "Mrs Hudson may need you."

"Mrs Hudson?" she said quietly. "of course, well, I wouldn't want to let Mrs Hudson down." She turned and he threw her scarf around her neck, keeping hold of the ends in his hands, drawing her in slightly.

There was a long moment of silent as she looked at him, waiting for something.

"Thank you Molly," he said quietly.

Three words from him. That's all. 2 really if you ignored her name. And coming from him that meant so much more. She stared up at him, his blue eyes brightly staring directly at her. "You're very welcome."

He released her scarf and the moment was over. But it was fine. They were fine.

She smiled, "you know it's nice hearing you say that. You really should say it more often."

Sherlock tried to look sternly at her. "Don't get used to it."

John appeared at the door, "Sorted?"

"Sorted," both Molly and Sherlock said together.

Walking through the hospital, Molly suddenly picked up on a subtle shift in the dynamic of John and Sherlock. Previously Sherlock nearly always charged ahead, leaving John behind. But now, he adjusted his stride to take account of both John and Molly, placing Molly between himself and John, like an honor guard, flanking her. With Molly on his left, keeping his right hand free to open doors and in Molly's mind, to draw his sword and protect her.

John smiled at her and nudged her arm. He'd noticed too.

She grinned.

It was alright. Everything would be alright.

S

OK guys… There will be a (hopefully) small final chapter, there are just a couple of loose ends I want to tie up.


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock

Characters: John, Sherlock and Molly.

Time Frame after season 2 episode 3.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I just love them.

I can't believe how many people have taken the time to read this story. Thank you, all of you. Far too many to mention. Remember Moriarty was real, and #believeinSherlock.

This is just a little epilog, as I felt there was perhaps a couple more things Sherlock needed to do….

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As they walked through the hospital, Sherlock spotted the admissions desk and turned to Molly. "Molly, I need another favor."

"I'm not stealing any more blood packs for you," she said firmly.

Sherlock shook his head, "no not this time. Can you check to see if Ted Longman was admitted at all in the last week? Probably with bronchitis or respiratory failure."

Molly nodded and went to speak to the receptionist, showing her ID badge.

John frowned, puzzled. "Who is Ted Longman?"

"A friend."

Molly soon returned and led Sherlock and John to one side of the reception hall. "Yes. A Robert Longman was admitted. He's up on one of the general wards. Do you want to see him?"

Sherlock nodded and followed Molly and John into the lift that took them up several floors to the wards. Molly made enquiries at the ward desk, and nurse pointed towards the end of a long line of beds.

Sherlock approached the bed slowly, with Molly and John hanging back.

Ted lay in the bed, looking much frailer than when Sherlock had last seen him, at the Soup Kitchen. Sensing a presence, Ted opened his eyes and tried to focus.

Sherlock decided the need for pretense was over. "Hello Ted," he said in his usual tone. "How are you feeling?"

Ted squinted at him. He could see Sherlock, but for a moment didn't connect him to the streetwise Benji. Ted tried to speak, but ending up having a coughing fit instead.

Instantly Molly stepped forward helping support Ted into a seated position and passing him a cup of water.

"Thank you young lady." Said Ted once he had his breath back. He stared at Sherlock again. "You scrub up well Ben."

Sherlock smiled, and pulled up a chair. "Actually it's Sherlock."

Ted grinned, "well blow me down. All that 'I believe', that was you?"

Sherlock indicated to Molly who was reading Ted's notes. "Yes, well that was Dr Hooper here. Molly meet Ted. Ted, this is Molly."

"You're Jacko's Angel, aint cha?" said Ted delightedly. He glanced at Sherlock. "Is she the reason you're here?"

"In more ways than you can possibly imagine," said Sherlock.

"I always thought there was something odd about you," said Ted. "You never seemed to quite fit. You had the lingo, the look, and you knew about the darker things out there, but somehow you never looked desperate enough." Ted looked him up and down. "You look the part now. A proper gent. Clean"

Sherlock recognized the double meaning in Ted's words. He touched Ted's hand. "That part was true. I never meant to deceive you. I just needed to hide. To save my friends."

Ted looked up and Molly and John, "They safe now?"

"Yes, Ted. They are safe now."

"Good." Ted sighed. "Proper worn me out you have. Go on off with ya. I'm sure you have better things to do than sit with an old man." Ted leaned back and closed his eyes. "I need my beauty sleep."

"I'd like to come back tomorrow, if that's all right?" Sherlock asked.

Ted waved wearily, "if you want. Ben, if you want."

Sherlock, John and Molly left the ward in silence. John and Molly glancing at each other. It was only in the lift that Sherlock asked, "How long?"

"Not long," said John. "Days possibly a week at best."

Molly grabbed Sherlock's hand, and squeezed. "I'm sorry Sherlock. Was he one of the homeless people that helped you?"

Sherlock nodded. "He used to watch out for some of the younger boys. Tried to teach them, to stay out of trouble. He tried to keep me out of trouble."

As they exited the lift, Sherlock absently mindedly kept hold of Molly's hand, and they made their way outside to catch a cab.

During the journey to Baker Street, Molly suddenly remembered that Mycroft had yet to be informed of his younger brothers return.

With extreme reluctance, and only after Molly's protestations, Sherlock borrowed John's phone and sent a brief message. "221B, now." Molly wasn't happy, but it was better than Mycroft seeing Sherlock's face on one of the many surveillance cameras that he controlled.

Upon their return to Baker Street, Molly and John had broken the news to Mrs Hudson of Sherlock's return by bringing her upstairs to John and Sherlock's flat and seating her down with a large glass of sherry. Her shriek of pure delight brought Sherlock running, at which point Mrs Hudson smacked him on the arm, and then gave him the biggest hug he'd ever had from her.

Immediately an impromptu tea party commenced, with Mrs Hudson providing cakes and biscuits, until they were interrupted by Mycrofts arrival. After shaking hands, Mycroft actually pulled Sherlock into a brotherly embrace. "Good show dear boy," were his only words of welcome but John thought he heard a small tremor of emotion there.

Sherlock was pleased to see that John hadn't made any significant changes to 221B. He'd removed a couple of Sherlock's rather more unpleasant experiment remnants, and had actually dusted. But everything was in place, including the skull on the mantel piece.

Mrs Hudson demanded lots more details of his exploits than either John or Lestrade had requested, and even Mycroft's seemed surprised by his brother's adventures.

Sherlock seemed to great delight in playing up Molly visit to Irene's, much to Molly's embarrassment. He also made it clear that Irene was off limits to Mycroft as well.

John and Mycroft's opinion of Molly was raised even higher when Sherlock described her various deductions and interventions during this period.

However Molly stepped in to shut down any questioning about how he had found out so much about Jim/Moriarty from her. Saying only that her and Sherlock had managed to have a very frank and open discussion about him. Sherlock had never been good at recognizing his mistakes, but he appreciated Molly's attempts at protecting him that that rather significant error in judgment.

It was Molly's stomach suddenly grumbling, that made them realize it was after 7pm and they had been talking for hours. This led everyone to complaining they were hungry.

Mycroft immediately offered dinner, at his expense, and a brief phone call brought two large black government looking cars to the door.

Mycroft escorted them all to a rather expensive restaurant, where they were shown to a private dining room the size of an Olympic swimming pool, with a table set for 7 arranged at one end. He assured them that in a private room, dress code would not be a problem.

Gold and crystal chandeliers it the room, with light reflecting off gilded and burnished surfaces at every turn. Mirrors in turn bounced the light around further, making the sumptuous decor gleam. Large tasteful oil paintings were displayed around the room, except at the far end, where a pair of large red and gold curtains concealed the end of the room.

Much to everyone's surprise Lestrade and Anthea were also there, waiting for them. "She arrived at my house about 20 minutes ago. Told me I was needed for an urgent meeting." He explained.

Mycroft smiled. "It somehow wouldn't be right without you."

Molly feeling very underdressed, looked around in awe and amazement at the surroundings. "Wow. I bet Buckingham Palace doesn't have quite this much bling."

John and Sherlock looked at each. "No, not really," said John finally.

Mycroft immediately ordered several bottles of exceptionally good wine, and conversation continued where it left off, with Anthea putting down her ever present phone, and joining in on several occasions.

Everyone had just finished their first course, when the curtains at the far end of the room opened. They had been concealing a raised staged area, where around 10 musicians were seated. The conductor stood and bowed at Mycroft, who nodded graciously.

The room was suddenly full of the most delicate music, beautiful, but not overpowering enough to make conversation difficult.

Sherlock stood and walked over to Molly. He offered her his hand, "may I", he asked.

Molly's jaw dropped. "What? Dance here?"

"Yes, here." Sherlock removed the napkin from her lap, and taking her hand, gently led her to the dance floor.

Acutely aware that everyone was watching them, Molly was blushing. "I thought you said you didn't dance."

Sherlock expertly maneuvered her into position, holding her gently, "no, I said I danced if absolutely necessary, and only with the right partner."

"But I can't dance," she whispered.

"Molly. Just look at me, and let me guide you." Slowly and gently, constantly looking into her eyes he guided Molly across the dance floor. Moving in time to the music of a beautiful waltz.

For a moment the rest of the group watched the couple on the floor. Molly moving with a grace that John had never seen before, Sherlock totally caught up in the moment.

John soon joined them with Mrs Hudson, despite her objections about her hip, and after several kicks under the table from Lestrade, Mycroft asked Anthea to dance.

Finally at the end of the piece, Sherlock drew Molly close, bent down and kissed her head. "See you can dance."

Smiling Molly shrugged. "Perhaps I just needed the right partner."

The rest of the meal was served, and the 7 friends chatted into the small hours.

Finally and reluctantly they left the restaurant. John insisted on escorting Mrs Hudson home, Sherlock escorting Molly.

Outside Molly's flat, Sherlock walked her to the door.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" asked Molly, as she extracted her door keys from her bag.

"No Molly. It's late, and I think you need to rest. We still need to see Lestrade tomorrow for statements."

Molly turned to look at him. His face was part shadowed, and part lit by the moonlight. "Thank you Sherlock, for a lovely evening. I'm truly glad you're OK, and can go back to your old life."

"Perhaps I don't want my old life. Not exactly anyway." He paused, and took her hand. "You know me too well to expect anything other than the absolute truth."

Molly nodded.

"You talk too much and say almost the first thing that comes into your head. But you've been amazing too and I like having you around," he finally admitted. "I wouldn't like it, but I would understand if that might not be enough for you. But it's all I have for the moment."

Much to his surprise Molly leant in and gave him a gentle hug. "Sherlock, right now, that's enough."

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Well that's all folks. I was happy where I finished chapter 14, but I just felt I need to look after Ted, and give Molly one dance with Sherlock.

What do you think? All comments, good, bad or indifferent are very welcome.

All mistakes are mine.

Thanks to all who reviewed, especially Nocturnias who stuck with this from the very beginning, Eccentricpetal for very positive comments and all those who read every chapter.

#believeinSherlock


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